


The Things You Have Caused Me Most to Want (are those that furthest elude me)

by BrighteyedJill



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alpha Jaskier | Dandelion, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Consensual Mind Control, Double Penetration, Group Sex, I shook a witcher and intergenerational trauma fell out, Knotting, M/M, Magical Performance-Enhancing Drugs, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multi, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Pack Bonding, Pack Dynamics, Self-Esteem Issues, Their abandonment issues are rubbing off on each other as much as their dicks are, Wall Sex, Winter At Kaer Morhen, canon-typical child abuse, of the Axii variety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:55:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 43,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26546356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrighteyedJill/pseuds/BrighteyedJill
Summary: Jaskier is not what anyone would call a traditional alpha, and certainly not the kind of alpha anyone would want for a mate. And he is quite surprised to unceremoniously discover that Geralt, his companion of many years, is in fact an omega. Geralt and his fellow witchers repress their heats until they arrive at Kaer Morhen for the winter. This year, since Jaskier’s rut is starting at just the right time, Geralt invites Jaskier to come along. Jaskier thinks he knows what to expect when partnering an omega in heat, but the situation at Kaer Morhen thoroughly wrecks his expectations.
Relationships: Coën/Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert, Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 246
Kudos: 1312
Collections: Witcher Big Bang





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work was created for the Witcher Big Bang. Art throughout is by the marvelous [jerry-of-rivia](https://jerry-of-rivia.tumblr.com/). Many, many thanks go to hobbitdragon and crateofkate for their assistance beta-ing this monster. 
> 
> Title comes from the poem ["A Person Protests to Fate" by Jane Hirschfield](https://poets.org/poem/person-protests-fate). I swear I didn't do titles this long until I arrived in the Witcher fandom. 
> 
> Also note that due to some unforeseen circumstances, we'll be posting half the fic today, and half in a few days. Apologies for the delay--this year is quite a thing.

Geralt stopped with the demijohn of dwarven ale halfway to his mouth when he heard the word “rut,” and his mind stuttered to a halt along with his body. The other distractions of their camp--the rustle of a bird settling down to roost in a fir tree across the clearing, the lingering smell of charred meat from dinner, the crackle of the fire--faded away into insignificance.

“It should make a lively start to the winter, at least, once I get back to Oxenfurt,” Jaskier was saying. “There’s a professor in the botany department, a very obliging beta, who I suspect will be willing to assist.”

Geralt breathed in, concentrating the way he usually tried not to when it wasn’t necessary to avoid the oversaturation of scent and sound that could quickly become unpleasant. And then, just faintly, he could catch the scent of an alpha coming into season. He breathed out shakily. “You’re going into rut?”

“Yes?” Jaskier raised an eyebrow. “That is what I said. It does happen from time to time. I know I’m not much of an alpha, but there are some biological basics that--”

“When?” Geralt hooked his hand around Jaskier’s arm and pulled him closer to sniff at his neck. “Must be two weeks at least.”

“First, your sense of smell is deeply troubling.” Jaskier snatched the demijohn out of Geralt’s hand and took a swig. “Second, why do you care? You’ll be long gone by then. The snow waits for no man, as you’ve often told me.”

Geralt looked at Jaskier for a long moment. Now that he'd noticed it, he couldn’t ignore the smell of alpha pheromones, faint as it was. Omegas were attuned to that sort of thing to begin with, but omega _witchers_ , with their mutated sense, responded much more strongly to alpha scents. Geralt’s mouth began to water as he thought of what the coming rut would mean: Jaskier hard and insatiable, Jaskier obeying the drive to claim, Jaskier’s thick, delicious knot. 

Geralt clenched his teeth together and realized Jaskier was staring at him, eyes wide with concern. 

“You all right? Geralt?”

Geralt stared at the ground. Though there was no one within miles who might have heard, he leaned in and said very quietly, “I’m an omega.”

Jaskier chuckled. “No you’re not. Some things are detectable even with my human senses, and presentation is definitely one of them.”

“Yes, I am,” Geralt said flatly. He’d never needed to explain this to anyone. Other witchers could tell, and beyond that, no one was meant to find out. However, in this as in many things, Geralt felt sure that Jaskier should be an exception. “I should know.”

“But…” Jaskier’s smile faltered, as if he was starting to think Geralt wasn’t joking. “I can’t smell you. If you were, wouldn’t you have had at least one heat in my presence in all the years we’ve travelled together?”

“We use elixirs to suppress them while we’re on the Path.” Regular as clockwork, never _ever_ get caught without it. That was one of the first alchemical recipes Geralt had learned.

“We… But when we… I’ve…” Jaskier stared at him, mouth working soundlessly, then said, with mounting incredulity, “I would have noticed. I have an intimate acquaintance with your… charms.”

“And I have nearly a century’s worth of experience hiding what I am.” No one wanted to be responsible for exposing his fellow witchers to danger. Geralt would rather have forgone intimacy with humans altogether than risk that. But as it had transpired, the Wolf witchers had passed down many tricks to prevent detection of their true nature. And Geralt had always been meticulous. “Don’t take it personally. No one’s ever noticed.”

Jaskier’s wide blue eyes fixed on Geralt’s. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“We’re not allowed.” And the fact that Geralt was telling him now, simply because he couldn’t bear the thought of Jaskier spending his rut elsewhere, was something he wouldn’t examine too closely. “It could put all of us in danger.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened even further. “Wait, are all witchers omegas?”

“No,” Geralt said slowly.

“No, but…?” Jaskier prompted.

“The Wolf School.” The secret came out more easily than he’d expected. With so few of the Wolves left, it didn’t seem as important anymore.

“All of you?” Jaskier asked.

“All of us who are still alive.”

“So then, how do you all…” Jaskier’s mouth stilled, as if trying to figure out what to ask. Then he said, “If you’re all omegas, how does--”

“We help each other. And when there’s an alpha around, we share.” It hadn’t been like that before the sacking of Kaer Morhen, but so many things were different now. “It’s what a pack does.”

“Is… why? Do they only recruit--” Jaskier waved a hand dismissively. “Nevermind, not the point.”

“They think it had something to do with genetic compatibility and the trials.” No one had felt the need to explain this to Geralt, of course, but he’d had enough late night discussions with Vesemir to have a good idea of what the mages who created witchers had thought. “It certainly wasn’t intentional. No one was _trying_ to make witcher omegas.”

“This is…” Jaskier slid closer to Geralt along the fallen log on which they sat, and settled a hand over Geralt’s. “Thank you for telling me, but why now? Are you just trying to give me something nice to think about while I’m in rut?”

“Come with me this winter.” The words were out of Geralt’s mouth before he had fully decided to say them, but he didn’t take them back. Why else had he told Jaskier the truth, after all? 

“To Kaer Morhen?” Jaskier watched him closely, eyes dark in the firelight.

“Yes.” Geralt didn’t attempt to say anything else to convince him. No matter how much Jaskier enjoyed bedding Geralt under regular circumstances, he might not enjoy the idea of partnering an omega who was also a witcher. Few did. And certainly Geralt had no intention of coercing him.

“Geralt.” Jaskier blew out a breath. “As we just discussed, I am about to be in rut.”

“And I’m about to be in heat,” Geralt replied. “We all delay our heats until we return for the winter.”

“You’ll… all… be in heat?” Jaskier asked weakly.

“You don’t have to come.” Geralt drew his hand away. It had been stupid to ask. No alpha in his right mind would want to spend their rut with Geralt, who wasn’t anyone’s idea of a proper omega, let alone be trapped in a keep all winter with several omega witcher freaks. “You’ve already made plans.”

“Stop that.” Jaskier snatched Geralt’s hand back and held it. Then he scooted closer, pushed his face against Geralt’s neck, and whispered. “Can I?” 

Geralt nodded, even not knowing what Jaskier meant. He’d allow anything, he thought, if it would convince Jaskier to come with him.

Jaskier nosed at the scent glands in Geralt’s neck and breathed in deeply. “I still can’t smell you.”

“That’ll change. Elixirs will start to wear off soon.” Sooner than he’d planned, Geralt thought grimly, if he kept catching the scent of Jaskier’s upcoming rut.

Jaskier groaned and pressed closer. “I want to smell you when you’re in heat. I want to feel how wet you get. I want to… gods, I want to knot you. Fuck.”

“You could.” Geralt dug the fingers of his hand into his palm as he waited. It was one thing for Jaskier to fantasize about plowing all the energy of his rut into a willing omega, and another to consider the realities of spending the winter in a keep full of omega witchers. “You’d be welcome to.”

“Geralt. I would be so…” Jaskier swung his leg over the back of the log and slid closer, pressing into Geralt’s side. “I cannot describe to you how tempting that is, which is notable, because I am excellent at describing things. But… are you sure you want me there? You’ve said, once the snows close the passes, it’s no one in or out until spring. Are you certain you want to be trapped with me? For your fellow witchers to be trapped with me?”

“Are you certain you want to be trapped with _us_?” Geralt asked. Jaskier had yet to meet any of the other Wolves, and so he couldn’t really understand what being snowed in with the lot of them would mean.

“I would follow you anywhere,” Jaskier whispered against Geralt’s neck. “You should know that by now.”

“I’ve thought about it. Often.” Geralt looked into the fire, and felt Jaskier’s eyes on him. “I can smell you. Smell how you get when you scent an omega in heat, and I thought… Last winter, I thought about what it would be like if you were there.”

“Oh, fuck, Geralt.” Jaskier shuddered against him. “I would take care of you. I would give you anything you wanted. Fuck.” Jaskier drew back and looked at Geralt. “I hope you realize that if you were actually a beta, and you invited me back to your mysterious castle for a winter of sex, I would be just as excited?”

“Hmm.” Geralt doubted that very much. But being an omega had to have some advantages, and if it would entice Jaskier to go, Geralt wouldn't argue.

“Does this mean we don’t have to split up tomorrow? I can arrange to send a message to Oxenfurt.” Jaskier sprang to his feet and began rummaging in his bag. “Fuck my winter term courses--they can give them to Marx, I don’t care. I should probably pick up some warmer clothes.”

“You’d really want to go?” Geralt couldn’t keep the skepticism out of his voice. 

“Geralt.” Jaskier stood and planted his hands on his hips. “I am still weeks away from starting rut. My judgement is not compromised. I know exactly what I want, and the idea that you are an omega and our cycles will be synched is making it rather hard to walk in these breeches.”

Geralt let his eyes drift down to take in Jaskier’s point.

“Any chance you’d be willing to help me work through my excitement?” Jaskier sidled closer with a hopeful smile on his face. “I confess before this conversation I was working on concocting a suave and casual way to ask if I could give you something nice to remember before you left for the winter. In fact, I thought this might be one of the times when you’d like to give _me_ something.”

The idea had tremendous appeal, especially as the scent of Jaskier’s arousal began to permeate their campsite. Still, Geralt hesitated. “You know I’m an omega,” he said.

Jaskier sank to his knees between Geralt’s legs, spread his hands atop Geralt’s thighs, and leaned forward, grinning up at Geralt. “Is that any reason you can’t fuck me?”

“Alphas don’t like to… submit that way.” As if that wasn’t obvious. “Not to omegas, at least.”

“Has it ever seemed like I didn’t enjoy it?” Jaskier slid a hand up Geralt’s thigh to press against the straining front of his breeches. “Funny, I’d have thought all the orgasms would have made it obvious.”

“But you didn’t know.” When, in response, Jaskier only started pressing kisses to Geralt’s throat and hummed contentedly, Geralt closed his eyes and said, “I lied to you.”

Jaskier drew back to look Geralt in the eye. “You kept a secret you’re required to keep. I understand. If you’re done feeling guilty, can I move us on to other topics?”

“Like packing warm clothes?” Geralt asked, arching an eyebrow. 

“No, you ass.” Jaskier squeezed Geralt’s cock through his breeches, and Geralt bit back a groan. “Like _removing_ our clothes.”  
\--

Jaskier glanced over his horse’s shoulder and immediately drew back at the sight of the sheer dropoff at the side of the trail. “Good boy, Pegasus. Just… keep on the trail, please.”

“He’s too lazy to go bolting off,” Geralt called back without bothering to turn around. “And he follows Roach no matter what you tell him to do.”

“Then you’d better make sure that Roach stays on the trail,” Jaskier muttered, knowing witcher hearing would easily catch his words.

“We’re barely even into the mountains.” Geralt did turn back now, but only to show Jaskier a hideous grin. “The final approach to Kaer Morhen is much tougher terrain.”

“Wonderful,” Jaskier said brightly.

“Witcher trainees called it The Killer.”

“That’s... charming.” Jaskier realized his capacity for banter was not at its best. He shifted uncomfortably in his saddle and kept his eyes fixed firmly on Roach’s hooves in front of him. Though his rut was at least a week off, still, the signs were already unmistakable. He hardly felt the cold, though the howling wind tore at his cloak as they rode. He found himself on edge, startling at each crack of a stick beneath the horses’ hooves or high-pitched screech of a hawk. And his cock seemed to be taking an interest in anything and everything. There was no one to scent aside from Geralt who, although he didn’t yet smell like an omega going into heat, still smelled divine. And his voice. Every time he spoke, the rumble of it cascaded through Jaskier’s blood and pooled in his groin, warm and heavy. What would it be like to hear that voice when he was tied with Geralt, feeling Geralt squeezing tight around his knot?

Jaskier clutched at the reins. This was not the time to be thinking about his rut. He wasn’t going to stop on the side of this death trap of a trail to pleasure himself, even if Geralt hadn’t been frowning at the sun and fretting quietly about their travel pace. Something to distract himself, then. “Are you going to tell me more about where we’re going?”

“Kaer Morhen, fortress of the School of the Wolf,” Geralt said, unhelpfully.

“Any other relevant information you’d like to share?” Jaskier asked. “What’s the place like? Which members of your esteemed tribe I can expect to meet? Tips to avoid offending everyone?”

“They’re not easily offended.” Geralt turned in his saddle to regard Jaskier with narrowed eyes. “You aren’t strict about traditional protocol, are you?”

“Making an omega kneel for me, demanding to be addressed as ‘alpha,’ all of that? Even if I was, I wouldn’t be doing that with you.”

“Good.” Geralt turned back around.

Before them, the way opened up to something more resembling a road than a goat trail. Jaskier nudged Pegasus forward to draw even with Roach. “Has someone tried that? With you?”

“Many alphas find it unsettling to mount an omega who could physically overpower them,” Geralt said without looking at him. “Even other witchers see me as a threat. Protocol can be a way of asserting their dominance.”

Jaskier frowned. He didn’t understand how anyone could look at Geralt--his proud strength, his sharp wit, his sheer stubbornness--and want to bury all that beneath the chains of protocol. But apparently someone had. Not this winter, Jaskier resolved. Not while he was around. Though suddenly it occurred to Jaskier that he might not have a say. Geralt hadn’t said Jaskier was the only partner he was inviting. He asked, oh so casually, “Will there be anyone else there besides your Wolf pals?”

“Maybe. Lambert talked about a Griffin he met last year.”

“A griffin?” Jaskier asked, a little strangled.

“Witcher from the Griffin School.” Geralt glanced over to smirk at Jaskier.

“Oh, good.” Jaskier’s anxiety, which had spiked quite alarmingly, sank back to reasonable levels. “And Lambert is...?”

“The most contrary little shit to ever come out of the Wolf School.”

“I like him already,” Jaskier said. “Who else?”

“Eskel.”

“Yes?” Jaskier prompted. The name sounded familiar: perhaps someone Geralt had mentioned before.

“We grew up together. Trained together.”

“Oh, _Eskel!_ ” Jaskier had definitely heard the name before, more than once, in the stories about Geralt’s youth in Kaer Morhen that Jaskier had pried out of him. “Went through your first heat together?” Jaskier guessed.

“Hmm.” Geralt rode in silence for another minute before elaborating. “They didn’t train us the way human omegas are trained. We won’t ever have pups, or be proper mates, so heat doesn’t mean the same thing to us. It’s simply another thing to be endured.”

Jaskier made a displeased noise. “Sounds like you’ve been doing heat wrong.”

Geralt’s hands tightened on the reins, and his eyes narrowed. “We manage it this way so that we don’t make ourselves vulnerable out on the Path. There are plenty of things out there eager to kill a witcher, including many humans. It’s better no one knows what we are.”

“I see.” Jaskier swallowed. Clearly there were some witcher sensitivities here he’d need to keep in mind. “I meant that heat is supposed to be enjoyable.”

“I know some humans find it so,” Geralt said, and his expression became markedly less tight.

“Right, leaving that aside for now,” Jaskier said, before he could step in any other messes, “there’s Lambert, Eskel, possibly some Griffin friend of Lambert’s. Who else?”

“Vesemir will be there, but he doesn’t…” Geralt paused. “He times his heats differently.”

“Why?”

“He raised us. He’s the closest thing to a father I remember.”

“You didn’t tell me I was meeting your father!” Jaskier couldn’t imagine what a parental figure of Geralt’s might be like. Impossibly cold and formal? Cursing and carousing up a storm? Entirely unspeaking? “I should have packed some nicer clothes.”

“Clothes don’t impress him,” Geralt said dryly. “And anyway, you won’t see him much, at least not until later in the winter.”

“He makes himself scarce while you’re all frolicking?”

“He makes sure we’re fed, keeps the fires burning. Helps tend any injuries. Cares for the goats.”

“Injuries?” Jaskier asked.

“Come on, we need to clear this part of the trail before nightfall.” Geralt pressed Roach into a fast walk, pulling ahead onto a narrower stretch of trail.

“Geralt, injuries?!” Jaskier urged Pegasus to keep up with Roach, and felt fairly certain Geralt was only joking.


	2. Chapter 2

Geralt shouldered his saddlebags, tucked his bedroll under his arm, and led the way through the winding passages of Kaer Morhen. 

“It has a kind of rustic charm,” Jaskier said politely as he trailed behind Geralt. Then he let out an undignified yelp that echoed through the corridor as he grabbed Geralt’s arm. “What was that?”

“Probably a rat,” Geralt said, as the skittering of tiny feet reached his ears. “Their favorite food is bards.”

“Very funny.” Jaskier gave Geralt’s arm a half-hearted swat. “So, is it only rats here, then?”

“No,” Geralt said slowly. Someone should have come to greet them by now. Several horses had already been ensconced in the stable and eating their dinner while they’d untacked Roach and Pegasus. “Come on.” 

Geralt led Jaskier up the back stairs, which came out in the kitchens. Two loaves of bread were cooling next to the oven. The smell of his fellow Witchers clung to the room, and with it the musky scent of pre-heat already quite advanced.

Geralt pushed through the door to the Dining Hall, concern rising. The fire here was banked, the room chilly, but some tapers were still lit in their wall sconces. A book lay open on the table, pages fluttering in the draft. The room had been vacated in a hurry. Geralt’s heart began to pound uncomfortably in his chest, and he swallowed hard. Kaer Morhen wasn’t so secure that it couldn’t have been attacked. A handful of witchers would have no hope of defending the place. And if his brothers were already partially incapacitated by heat, they’d be doubly vulnerable. Geralt let his pack slide to the floor and drew his steel sword. 

“Geralt?” Jaskier stepped up behind him, but Geralt couldn’t take the time to explain. 

He strode forward towards the other end of the Hall, breaking into a run halfway across. The door ahead of him flew open, and Geralt skidded to a stop. 

Eskel emerged, his arms full of linens. Geralt caught the scent of blood, but then saw the red flash of a split lip--not a serious injury, then.

“Eskel.” Geralt’s eyes darted beyond him to the dark corridor. “Where is everyone?”

“Wolf. Everything all right?” Eskel dumped his armful of linens on the nearest table, glanced quickly around the room, then raised an eyebrow at Geralt’s drawn blade.

“Fine.” Geralt sheathed his sword. “Fine, now.”

“Happy you’re finally here. Took you long enough.” Eskel stepped forward to embrace Geralt, and Geralt wasn’t too proud to lean into his chest with most of his weight, locking his arms around Eskel’s body. He smelled of smoke, potion ingredients, fresh hay, the chores of life at Kaer Morhen. Very, very faintly, Geralt could detect the subtle scent of Eskel’s pre-heat. Eskel felt warm and solid in his arms, and Geralt held on longer than he should have. At last, Eskel’s hand squeezed Geralt’s shoulder, just at his neck where a claiming bite would go, and drew away.

“Sorry I didn’t come to greet you. We’ve got…” he glanced back over his shoulder, and Geralt could hear distant shouting, “a Lambert problem.”

“A different one than usual?” Geralt felt his heartbeat slowing back to normal as the panic that had seized him began to fade.

“No, same old problem.” Eskel looked over Geralt’s shoulder. “Is this your bard?”

“Jaskier, this is Eskel,” Geralt said, motioning the bard forward. “Eskel, Jaskier.”

“Very pleased to meet a friend of Geralt’s,” Jaskier said, sticking out his hand for Eskel to shake.

“Hello. Geralt, why--” Eskel cut off as he breathed in and scented Jaskier, taking in the unmistakable dense aroma of an alpha on the cusp of rut. “Oh. Do you know what you’re getting into?”

“Almost certainly not,” Jaskier said, but he sounded cheerful enough. “Geralt is a chronic under-explainer.”

“That he is.” Eskel gave Geralt a meaningful look before turning back to Jaskier. Geralt felt himself blushing. “We should talk more, but I need to make sure Lambert hasn’t ripped Coën’s throat out with his teeth.”

“Coën?” Geralt asked.

“From the Griffin School. Nice kid.”

“Is he--”

“A beta.” Eskel said it politely, but Geralt knew him well enough to detect a hint of disappointment.

Geralt was spared from figuring out what to say to that when the shouting from down the hall intensified. Eskel sighed, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, which only succeeded in smearing the blood there. “I should go check on them.”

“Come on,” Geralt said, waving Jaskier ahead of him. “You may as well meet him, too.”  
\--

Kaer Morhen had obviously once been a mighty fortress. Jaskier could appreciate the traditional architecture and the quality of the craftsmanship. But those glory days had clearly been many years ago; the corridor Eskel led them through was lit by a far-up hole in the roof. Water dripped somewhere in the shadows, and several of the windows were covered with planks. Jaskier wondered if anyone lived here year ‘round, or if the Wolves only came back to their den for the winter. 

Eskel, reportedly the closest thing Geralt had to a childhood friend, was of a height with Geralt but broader in the shoulders, with an ass that looked extremely inviting in his leather trousers and a set of scars dominating the architecture of his handsome face. Jaskier had never seen Geralt embrace anyone as passionately as he’d embraced Eskel just now; Jaskier had the idea that “childhood friend” did not precisely cover their relationship. But Eskel’s brisk pace didn’t permit much discussion. He pushed open one of a set of large doors at the end of the passage and ushered them through. 

Jaskier blinked in the thin sunlight, which seemed unnaturally bright after the dimness of the keep’s interior. Through a crumbling hole in a nearby wall, he could see the grounds of this place were sprawling. Gardens and walls in various states of neglect and disrepair sprawled down the side of the hill. But this courtyard was not large, and most of its structures seemed intact. In the distance, the mountains towered over the tops of the walls, snow-capped and breathtaking.

“I see what you mean,” Geralt said darkly, and Eskel nodded.

“Hm?” Jaskier asked, tearing his eyes away from a contemplation of the landscape.

“That’s Lambert.” Geralt jerked his head towards the far side of the courtyard. 

Lambert was a compact man, leanly muscled like the rest of the witchers, though his movements were sharp and swift to Geralt’s liquid grace. He sat with his back against the stone wall and his arms wrapped tightly around his chest. His shirt was loose around his throat, as if he’d been pulling at it. Jaskier hunched down into his fur mantle in sympathy as a gust of wind roared down from the surrounding mountains. 

“He’s been here three days,” Eskel said. “Apparently he timed his heat to come early, and was planning to ride it out on his own this year.”

“We could have told him how impossible that is,” Geralt muttered. Eskel grunted in reply.

“He travelled like this?” Jaskier asked in horror. His own skin felt itchy and too tight, and his rut hadn’t even properly started. He’d never seen an omega sit as still as Lambert was, with his _clothes on_ and smell like he was in full-blown heat.

“ _He_ can hear you,” Lambert called, though the wind snatched at his voice. “Fuck off.”

“You’re going to get frostbite, and then you’ll be an even worse fighter than you are now,” Geralt called back. 

Lambert sprang to his feet and charged across the distance between them. Geralt shifted to drop the saddlebags he was carrying. Eskel took Jaskier gently by the arm and pulled him back, away from the impending clash.

Geralt pirouetted smoothly as Lambert reached him, spinning them both with the momentum of the charge. Lambert broke away and swung a fist at Geralt’s face so incredibly fast that Jaskier could scarcely follow the blows and dodges. 

In less than a minute, Lambert was pinned on his belly, writhing and spitting curses while Geralt held him down. “Do you yield?” Geralt asked.

“Get off, asshole!”

“Maybe you should get off. I bet that’d help,” Geralt retorted. He pushed to his feet and headed back towards Jaskier’s side. 

As soon as he was free, Lambert jumped up and would have pounced on Geralt again if another man, as fast to Jaskier’s eye as all the other witchers, hadn’t grabbed him by the back of the shirt. Lambert spun, furious, and shoved the other man back.

“Fuck you in every hole, Coën. Leave me alone!”

The man, Coën presumably, raised his hands in surrender. He looked younger than the others, though of course it was difficult to tell with witchers. His dark, tightly curled hair was close-cropped, along with his beard, giving him a very dignified look despite his apparent youth. The crooked joint in his nose spoke of bones broken and reset, though Jaskier realized he’d never seen any of Geralt’s infrequent broken bones heal badly--perhaps Coën sustained the injury before acquiring a witcher’s remarkable healing powers. Jaskier frowned as an image came to him of this man as a youth in training, serious-faced as he fought through a broken nose to prove his worth. Pure imagination, of course, but Jaskier knew from what little Geralt had said that the witchers’ upbringings had been fully as harsh as their adult life of monster-fighting.

“You could at least wait to start the wrestling until we’ve been introduced,” Coën said placidly, and brushed off his jerkin before turning to the newcomers. “Sorry to intrude. I’m Coën.” He extended his hand to Geralt, who shook it warmly. “From the School of the Griffin.”

“Welcome to Kaer Morhen,” Geralt said. “Geralt of Rivia.”

“The famous White Wolf,” Coën said. His smile looked almost mischievous. “I’ve heard the songs.”

“Hmm,” Geralt said.

Before Coën could even look at Jaskier, Lambert broke out, “Who the fuck is that?”

“Hi.” Jaskier dredged up his most winning smile and put out a hand towards Lambert, whose glowering exceeded even Geralt’s expertise. “Julian Alfred Pankratz, at your--”

“Yeah, don’t care.” Lambert didn’t take Jaskier’s hand, but he did raise his chin and breathe in. When he caught Jaskier’s scent, his eyes widened. “Oh come on! He’s not even a witcher.” He sneered at Geralt. “Are you so desperate for a knot you’re bringing in any stranger you meet on the road?”

“This is Geralt’s bard,” Eskel said quietly.

Impossibly, the rage of Lambert’s face intensified. “Fuck you! Fuck you, Geralt.” He shoved Geralt with both hands, and Geralt just stepped back with the momentum of the push and crossed his arms over his chest. “If you’ve got your own mate, why even come here? Just to rub it in our faces?”

“He’s not my mate,” Geralt said, at the same time as Jaskier said, “I’m not here just for Geralt.”

“Is that so?” Lambert crowded up to Jaskier, who held his ground by force of sheer bardic bravado.

Jaskier breathed in, his alpha senses unable to mistake the air saturated with the smell of Lambert’s heat. Gods above, Jaskier didn’t know how Lambert was standing, let alone talking, with his heat so far advanced. He must have been in agony.

“Did you come to help keep all the unruly little witchers in their place?” Lambert growled.

“Actually, I thought I’d be lucky if even one of you wanted me,” Jaskier said, keeping his eyes fixed on Lambert and his voice steady. “Considering how long it took Geralt to let me take him to bed, I’ve resigned myself to the idea of spending my rut around several delicious-smelling witchers who wanted nothing to do with me.”

Lambert kept glaring at him. His mouth opened, but he said nothing.

“Well, _I’m_ glad you’re here,” Coën broke in. “I heard from Ealdred that last year he was exhausted after the first week. It’ll be good to have some backup, human or not.”

“The first week?” Jaskier said faintly. “How many weeks--”

“You should have asked first, Geralt,” Lambert said, whirling to face him.

“I didn’t know he was going to be in rut until I smelled it,” Geralt said. “No time for a message.”

Eskel dropped a hand on Lambert’s shoulder. “You’re outvoted. I’m glad he’s here.”

“Like you give a shit about having an alpha.” Lambert shoved Eskel’s hand off him and squirmed away. “You’re always on his side.”

“Lambert, if you want--” Coën began.

“No, fuck you with both swords, Coën. I don’t need you.” Lambert turned and stomped away, leaving the air in his wake thick with the scent of heat. 

They all watched him go in silence. Coën took a step after him, but Geralt put a hand on his shoulder and shook his head. 

Eventually, Eskel said, “We’ve been getting the west hall ready.”

“Not the north hall?” Geralt asked.

“Roof collapsed. West will be plenty big enough. And it’s closer to the kitchens.”

“Hmm.” Geralt was still staring after Lambert.

“We are glad you’re here, Jaskier.” Eskel patted Jaskier on the back, and Jaskier just managed to avoid stumbling forward with the force of it. “Don’t mind Lambert. If you want to bring your things, we’ll get you settled.”  
\--

Jaskier found it increasingly difficult to pay attention to Eskel pointing out features of the keep as he led them the short distance to the room that had been prepared for them. He left them at the door, exchanging one last lingering glance with Geralt. 

Jaskier didn’t see the room at all. He dropped his bag right inside the door, and had just enough presence of mind to deposit his lute on top for a soft landing. 

“Geralt.” Jaskier’s face had grown warm and his heart raced in his chest. He stepped up behind Geralt and pushed his face against Geralt’s neck. The scent of heat was still only a tantalizing promise, far off yet. Jaskier whined and dragged his tongue up the side of Geralt’s neck, chasing the promise of that scent. “Geralt. Geralt. Geralt.” His grip tightened on Geralt’s arms and he pressed his body forward, rocking his hips up to rub against Geralt’s deliciously well-muscled ass.

“That was fast.” Geralt’s voice held warm amusement. It also rumbled through Jaskier’s body, making him sigh.

“Smelling an omega in full heat like that… think I skipped a few steps.”

“So you did.”

“Geralt, I need…” Jaskier warped an arm around Geralt’s waist and thrust against him. With the barrier of both of their clothes, the friction was only a tease.

“I was planning to bathe first.”

“You smell divine.” Jaskier pushed Geralt’s head to the side for better access and breathed in the smell of him. Then he realized what he was doing and let go immediately. “Uh, sorry. It’s not usually like this to start.”

“Don’t be. I knew what I was getting into.” Geralt turned and dragged Jaskier against him by the waist. “But did you? I didn’t know you wanted the others, too.”

“You said…” Jaskier felt fevered, slow. Words were hard. “They were all going to be in heat. That you shared.” And of course, now that he’d seen the others, _smelled_ them, the reality was even more enticing. But Geralt was watching him, face unreadable. “I thought you meant-- Do you not want me to--”

“No, that’s not it.” Geralt pulled him in more tightly, aligning their bodies so Jaskier could rut against his hard thigh. “I like the idea.”

“Fuck. Whatever you want. I just need…” Jaskier thrust up against Geralt’s leg desperately, trying to drag Geralt closer. He needed something. He needed more. 

“Do you want me to take the edge off?”

“Yes. Gods, yes. _Please_ ,” Jaskier panted.

Geralt tugged at the laces on Jaskier's breeches until they came loose, and then helped Jaskier push those and his braies down to his knees. His shirt felt unbearably warm and scratchy, so he tore it off over his head and flung it aside. 

Geralt curled his hand around Jaskier’s hardening length and dragged his fingers upwards before tracing his thumb around the crown. Jaskier laced his hands together behind Geralt’s neck to hold himself up as his knees threatened to buckle.

“Fuck, Geralt.” Everything felt hot, and Geralt smelled _delectable_ , and Jaskier was practically vibrating with need. “I want to fuck you. Can I?”

“Now?”

“Well, yes, but I’m given to understand we’re expected downstairs shortly. I meant when your heat comes,” Jaskier rasped out, and was rewarded with Geralt’s sharp exhale against his neck, and Geralt’s hand stuttering into motion around his cock. He couldn’t stop the groan that boiled out of him, but then he regained his breath and pushed on. He needed to say this. “I want to feel how wet you are, and smell how much you want me. I want to make you feel so much pleasure you can’t think of anything else. I want to give you everything you need, fill you up until you’re coming on my knot, again and again and again until you can’t come anymore. And I want to kiss you, taste your pleasure, smell your seed, fuck, I want to fuck you until you are absolutely sated and stay there tied with you until we fall asleep.”

Geralt leaned in to whisper in Jaskier’s ear. “They can hear you, you know.”

“What?” Jaskier couldn’t think with Geralt pressed against him like this.

“Witcher hearing.” Geralt stroked Jaskier firmly, then reached down with his other hand to squeeze around Jaskier’s knot. “We have an audience.”

Jaskier gasped and shouted out his climax, spilling over Geralt’s hand and slumping against his chest.

Geralt raised his hand to his mouth and neatly licked the come from his fingers while Jaskier watched, open-mouthed and panting.

“Could they really hear all that?” Jaskier asked, as soon as his brain had re-solidified enough to form words.

“At Kaer Morhen, it’s best to assume someone’s always listening.” Geralt stroked a hand across Jaskier’s face. “We should head back downstairs. It’s bad manners to stay away from the party too long.”

“Geralt.” Jaskier groaned at the thought of a room saturated with the scents of multiple omegas in heat. “Fuck, Geralt, yes.” Jaskier shook himself out of his lethargy, snatched up his clothes, and pulled them on without any regard for ties or buttons. He’d need to get out of them again soon enough. “Let’s hurry. I’d like to come again immediately.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains consensual mind control in the form of Axii.

“Got started without us?” Eskel asked when he got a whiff of Geralt and Jaskier as they arrived in the west hall after a hasty and cursory wash.

“He’s my bard.” Geralt slung a hand around Jaskier’s waist and pulled him close. “I get first rights.”

“So mature,” Eskel grumbled.

Jaskier glanced around the room with eyes that were only partially glazed. Pallets and mattresses had been strewn across the flagstones in front of the hearth at the far end of the hall, piled with blankets and pillows. Nearby, a few tables had been arranged, stacked with clean dishes. One held an assortment of bottles, large and small, and a selection of earthenware tankards, another held a few bowls filled with dried fruit, nuts, and something that may have been smoked chunks of meat. A large tub, currently empty, had been shoved in a corner.

Eskel's voice dragged Jaskier’s attention back to the conversation. “How close are you?” 

“Now that I’m smelling him, close,” Geralt said, nodding towards Jaskier. “I’d thought it would be another day or two, but no. Hours. You?”

“I can hold out until the end of the week, I think.” Eskel’s smell certainly wasn’t nearly as strong as Geralt’s or Lambert’s, to Jaskier’s substandard human nose. “Took my last dose of repressant late.”

“Why?” Geralt asked.

“No reason all three of us should peak at the same time. Don’t want to deplete resources unnecessarily.” Eskel rubbed the back of his neck. “Though watching you and Lambert go out of your minds with need may get me going sooner, in any case.”

“Deplete resources?” Geralt huffed. “Don’t worry, we’ll use the cocks we have judiciously.”

Both witchers looked sharply towards the entrance, and Jaskier followed their gaze. The door to the hall burst open, and Lambert stormed in. His scent hit Jaskier like a slap, and Jaskier inhaled sharply. Lambert’s face was flushed and damp with sweat. Red scratches marred his neck where he’d attempted to relieve the unbearable itch of the heat. As Lambert stomped up to them, Geralt tightened his grip around Jaskier’s waist.

“Where’s Coën?” Eskel asked.

“Bit him,” Lambert said succinctly. “Come on.” He grabbed Geralt’s hand and dragged him none too gently away. 

“Be just a minute.” Geralt reluctantly released Jaskier as he trailed after Lambert.

“Did he mean the sexy kind of bite?” Jaskier asked hopefully.

“No,” said Eskel.

Jaskier considered that as he watched Lambert tear furiously at his clothes and haphazardly hurl them to the floor. “Are they going to be alright?”

“Lambert will calm down once he gets a little release,” Eskel said placidly. “Fight with Geralt must have gotten him worked up enough to give in.”

“And Geralt?” Jaskier raised an eyebrow as Lambert shoved Geralt down onto a mattress near the hearth and pounced on him.

“Can take care of himself.” Eskel turned to look at Jaskier. In the flickering candlelight of the hall, the combination of scars and shadows on his craggy face made him look positively savage. Though he’d discarded his armor, he still wore all his clothes and boots, with a jacket buttoned up against the chill of the keep, even though the hall was plenty warm. 

Jaskier found the simmering arousal in his guts flaring as he looked the man over. With his armor stripped away, Jaskier could see he was thicker in the chest than Geralt, arms corded with muscle, and Jaskier very much wanted to see him with his shirt off. Jaskier’s lips parted, and his tongue darted out to wet them.

Eskel’s eyes tracked the movement, then he cleared his throat. “So, bard.” 

“I have a name,” Jaskier pointed out. 

“Jaskier,” Eskel said slowly and distinctly. “Let me ask you something. Why are you here?”

“Because Geralt asked.” Now that he was here, Jaskier could think of a dozen reasons why saying yes had been a brilliant idea, but Geralt deserved credit for the invitation.

“And?” Eskel kept staring at him, eyes narrow.

“Because I would very much like to spend my rut with Geralt in heat.” Jaskier thought that had been self-explanatory. “Can’t think of anything more worth doing.”

“Huh. You mean that.” Eskel shook his head. “Alright. Don’t know what he told you about the rest of us, or what winter here is like. But just because you’re here to partner Geralt through his heat doesn’t mean you’re stuck servicing the rest of us, too. I wouldn’t make you do that, no matter how frenzied my heat gets. Lambert, once he really gets the scent of an alpha in rut, might give you a little more trouble, but Coën and I can keep him off you.”

“But…” Jaskier blinked at Eskel, feeling slow. “Geralt said… Usually you share.”

“We do. But we’re witchers. It’s different.” Eskel looked away. “Seems like you really care for Geralt.”

“You do, too,” Jaskier said. Eskel looked back sharply, as if he’d thought that wasn’t obvious to anyone who saw them together for five minutes. “You’ve known him a long time. Since his first heat?”

“Mm.” Eskel’s expression darkened into a frown. “Understand wanting to make him happy by agreeing to this, but it’s not necessary. I’m not some toll you have to pay to be with the person you want.”

“Does that mean you want me to leave you alone? Which I understand.” Jaskier held up his hands in surrender. “You probably don’t want just any old knot. But I… Well, I’m not interested just for Geralt’s sake, let me put it that way.” Jaskier stepped closer, breathing in Eskel’s scent, which was only the barest echo of the heat to come, and enjoyed the ways Eskel’s amber eyes widened. “I enjoy partnering omegas in heat. One of my favorite things. And it’s not like either of you would be a hardship. Even if you weren’t Geralt’s pack, I’d be very, very interested.”

“Well,” Eskel said faintly. “Do what you want.” Then he cleared his throat again. “Seems like you will anyway.”

Jaskier gave Eskel his most promise-laden smile, from which Eskel only turned away. 

Before Jaskier could feel any disappointment, he followed Eskel’s gaze and saw Lambert, now fully naked, holding a mostly-clothed Geralt down by the shoulders as he straddled him, riding his cock at a punishing pace. Geralt had his head thrown back and mouth open, absolutely gorgeous as he clenched his hands into fists, seemingly trying to save off his climax.

“Fuck,” Jaskier whispered, with feeling. His cock throbbed, reminding him that it had been half an hour at least since he’d come. He drifted forward, drinking in the scents of two omegas intermingling, their heat smell demanding his attention. 

With a shout, Geralt arched his back, coming inside Lambert. Fuck. Jaskier pressed a hand to the front of his breeches. He wanted to do that. Wanted to knot the omega whose pheromones screamed his readiness and need. Lambert’s hand sped over his cock until he finished with a grunt, shooting over his fingers and stomach. Then he climbed off, flopping gracelessly onto the far side of the mattress.

“Geralt,” Jaskier croaked, and stumbled forwards. “Geralt, fuck.” He threw himself down beside Geralt where he was sprawled over the nearer half of the mattress, and shoved his face against Geralt’s neck, tugging at the collar of his shirt so he could smell him better. Geralt’s heat hadn’t fully begun, but he still smelled of Lambert, and sex, and his own rising need. Jaskier groaned against him. 

“Go on,” Geralt said. He shoved off his breeches, which were already halfway down his thighs, and kicked them aside. He turned over and got up on his knees, presenting his lovely, well-muscled ass in an unmistakable invitation.

Jaskier whined, and clutched at his fully hard cock through his breeches. In the next moment, he was on Geralt, gently spreading his ass and leaning forward to swipe his tongue over Geralt’s hole. 

Geralt inhaled sharply and whipped around to look at Jaskier, but, hearing no complaints, Jaskier continued. Geralt was already starting to get wet, and Jaskier groaned as he imagined how it would be in a few hours, when Geralt was so wet and open for him he could slide right in and take him without any prep. He pushed his tongue into Geralt’s body and felt Geralt shudder beneath him, so he did it again, spearing Geralt open on his tongue. 

The small, choked sounds coming from Geralt were starting to make the throbbing of Jaskier’s cock unbearable. Why Geralt had hidden his presentation from Jaskier for so long, when they could have been doing _this_ , Jaskier would never understand. He’d enjoyed his tumbles with Geralt plenty, but knowing he could have had Geralt in heat as well--oh, it was criminal to have missed out on this for the past decade.

“You gonna get on with it?”

Jaskier reluctantly pulled his face away to see Lambert, laying on his side at the edge of the mattress not two feet away, with his head propped up on a hand.

“Do you have a cock, or is that how alphas do it where you come from?” Lambert asked with a sneer.

“It’s a pity to limit oneself to a single instrument,” Jaskier said with a wink. He turned away from Lambert’s incredulous scowl to lick one more long stripe across Geralt’s hole, then pushed two fingers into him. They went in easily. “Ready?”

“I was ready before,” Geralt grumbled, but he didn’t sound too put out. 

Jaskier pushed aside his clothes only as much as necessary to reach his goal, and surged forward, guiding his hard cock into Geralt in one slow, smooth motion. Geralt groaned and pushed back against him, eager to take more. Jaskier let him control the pace. Jaskier wouldn’t last long--he was too wound up now, but there would be time later, he thought with giddy anticipation. He would get to do this with Geralt again, and again, and again. 

Jaskier curled his hands around Geralt’s hips and held on as Geralt rocked back against him. He was so graceful, so strong, effortlessly competent at this as in anything that involved physical skill. “Fuck, Geralt,” Jaskier gasped. 

Movement caught his eye, and Jaskier saw Lambert reach a hand lazily beneath Geralt to stroke his cock, which was hard again already. Fucking witcher stamina. No, witcher _fucking_ stamina, Jaskier thought hysterically. Even Lambert, who’d come not ten minutes ago, was hard again. As Lambert stroked Geralt, however, his eyes were fixed on Jaskier’s cock, disappearing into Geralt’s body. His eyes were wide and dark, his lips parted as he watched.

Jaskier’s knot was swollen to its full size, and was bumping against Geralt’s entrance with every thrust. Jaskier reached down to wrap his hand around it and squeeze, shivering at the swell of pleasure. He wanted to feel Geralt’s body grip him like this, but Geralt wasn’t really in full heat yet, and Jaskier hadn’t prepared him nearly enough for that. But next time, he reminded himself. Geralt wanted to take his knot. He’d said he did. 

Geralt gasped and pushed back hard against Jaskier as a shudder ran through his whole body and he clenched down hard. Jaskier shouted and drew back with an enormous effort, clamping his hand down around his knot as he spilled against Geralt’s upturned ass. 

With a groan, Jaskier threw himself down beside Geralt. He lay there regaining his breath and melting further into the mattress as the desperate urgency that had driven him dissipated. Everything felt warm and pleasant. 

Lambert pushed up from the mattress and returned a moment later with a damp rag, which he threw at Geralt’s face. With a lazy grunt, Geralt wiped himself down, then handed the rag to Jaskier. As he cleaned up his mess, Jaskier glanced around the room. Coën, who sported a bandage around his hand to mark where he’d braved Lambert’s wrath, had come in while Jaskier had been occupied. He and Eskel were sitting at a table on the other side of the room with a full tankard for each of them on the table between them, just as comfortable as they might be sitting in a tavern. Lambert, still fully naked, flopped onto the mattress on Geralt’s other side. The whole scene had a cozy, domestic quality, for all that Jaskier had seen more modesty in brothels.

“Why didn’t you…?” Geralt was looking at Jaskier, his golden eyes narrow and confused. He nodded his chin towards Jaskier’s cock.

“My knot?” For all that Jaskier loved to think about--and talk about--putting his knot in someone, he’d had enough partners who were _not_ omegas in heat to be in the habit of not doing so without asking. “You weren’t ready. It would have hurt.”

“Fuh.” Geralt made a rude, dismissive gesture.

“I’ve gotten used to betas. Besides, even some omegas don’t like to tie.” Jaskier settled his head on his folded arms, looking away from Geralt. “Especially if they’re not mated. Too intimate.”

“What’s the point of fucking an alpha if not to get knotted?” Lambert sat up so he could stare at Jaskier over Geralt’s shoulder. 

“Maybe the alpha has a nice personality,” Jaskier offered. 

“All alphas are assholes,” Lambert said authoritatively. “Can’t trust any of them. The knot isn’t worth the trouble.”

“Trouble?” Jaskier smirked at him. “It’s not as if I could do something you don’t like. You’d break me in half.”

“If I was going to let you fuck me, yeah, you’d better believe I’d twist your cock off if you stepped out of line.”

“Charming.” The image made Jaskier wince. 

“But you don’t know what heat’s like.” Lambert’s expression had turned dark. “Kinda like love. Turns you into an idiot. Makes you do stupid things. Things you wouldn’t do otherwise. People take advantage.”

Jaskier heard the bitterness in Lambert’s voice and didn’t pry any further. “What if I only did what you told me?”

“What, I’m supposed to take your word? Right.” Lambert leaned back a fraction and crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, maybe if I Axii’d you.”

“Absolutely not,” Geralt grumbled, from where his face was pressed into the mattress. 

“What’s Axii?” Jaskier asked.

“A sign,” Lambert said. “Little bit of magical mind control. Calms down animals, makes people more cooperative.”

“I’ve seen you use that.” Jaskier prodded Geralt in the shoulder, and he grunted. “On Roach, when she was hurt. And those bandits we ran into in--”

“You’re not using Axii on Jaskier,” Geralt said, with a note of finality.

“Why not?” Jaskier asked. “You have.”

“Ooo, this should be good,” Lambert said. “Do tell.”

“You Axii’d your bard?” Eskel’s attention had been caught as well, undermining the fiction that Eskel and Coën couldn’t hear everything they were up to from that side of the room. He turned in his chair and leaned forward with a hand on his knee, and Coën looked over as well. “Absolutely do tell.”

“This is stupid.” Geralt hoisted himself up to sit and shoved half-heartedly at Lambert, who shoved him right back. “I didn’t--”

“When I’d been bitten by a nocnitsa in Maribor,” Jaskier said, looking at Eskel. “I was having an entirely justified panic, and Geralt waved his hand and did a thing.”

“You were going to hurt yourself.”

“Geralt, you brute!” Lambert said, laughing. 

“It was an emergency,” Geralt grumbled. “If there’d been any other nocnitsas in the area, they wouldn’t have had any trouble finding us with all the screaming you were doing. I was trying to keep you from getting us killed.”

“Which you could have explained, instead of magically bending me to your will,” Jaskier pointed out, but in truth, as afraid as he’d been at the time, he wasn’t certain logic would have moved him. 

“For shame.” Coën was shaking his head sadly, but wore a poorly-concealed smile.

“I forgive you,” Jaskier said, patting Geralt on the shoulder. “But you can hardly forbid Lambert from doing it if you have.”

“He’s got you there, Wolf,” Eskel said.

Geralt looked between Lambert and Jaskier and sighed. “Fine. But I’ll be here the whole time. I’ll break it if he does anything that goes too far.”

“Like you can break my signs,” Lambert snorted.

“I can,” Eskel said.

“Yeah, yeah.” Lambert made a rude gesture in Eskel’s direction.

“Jaskier.” Geralt dropped a hand on his shoulder and looked at him intently. “You don't have to.”

“You won’t let anything bad happen to me, right?” Jaskier knew that was the case, but he wanted Geralt to know he knew it.

“No, I won’t.”

“Well, go ahead.” Jaskier sat up, facing Lambert.

Grinning, Lambert held his left palm face up. Atop it, a blue flame flared to life.

Art by [jerry-of-rivia](https://jerry-of-rivia.tumblr.com/)

Jaskier stared at the dancing flame. It was so beautiful. He swayed towards it. Everything suddenly felt easy and far away. Even the urgency of the rut, which had been building again, had faded.

“Come here.” Lambert’s voice sounded as if it were echoing through a thick fog.

Jaskier crawled forward. Lambert leaned close to him and inhaled deeply. Jaskier could feel him shudder. 

“Fuck, why does he smell so good?” Lambert growled.

Jaskier wanted to smell Lambert, too. His nose wasn’t as sensitive as a witcher’s, but any alpha could appreciate the nuances of a heat scent. Out in the courtyard, the smell of Lambert’s heat had been unmistakable, despite the competing scents and the blustery wind, but Jaskier hadn’t really gotten to appreciate it. Now Lambert was right here, and naked, and about to fuck him. Jaskier wanted to memorize his scent, to see how it was different from Geralt’s.

Lambert pulled away, and Jaskier whined deep in his throat. 

“Let him smell you, too,” Geralt said.

“Fine,” Lambert sighed.

That permission was enough to allow Jaskier to lean forward and push his face into Lambert’s neck. He smelled incredible: warm and open and wet. Jaskier whined again. He was going to get to be inside Lambert, _knot_ Lambert. His cock was already half hard.

“Can I move on now?” Lambert glared at Geralt, who made a broad, magnanimous gesture. “Clothes off.”

Lambert and Geralt both watched as Jaskier shed his clothes, moving slowly as he encountered confusing buttons and ties. Geralt finally helped him remove his boots, which had entirely confounded him. 

“Down.” Lambert pressed him onto the mattress, and Jaskier went onto his back willingly. At this point in his rut, the scratch of linens against his skin would usually have been a distraction and an annoyance, but Jaskier hardly registered them, too engrossed in staring up at Lambert, so lithe and strong, scars shining silver in the firelight. Lambert knelt straddling him with an entirely unsatisfying lack of contact. “Let me see what you can do. Your fingers, first.”

Jaskier didn’t hesitate. He wrapped the fingers of his right hand around Lambert’s cock, which stood stiffly against his belly. Such a delicious little handful. The feel of it in his grip sent a shudder of pleasure rippling through Jaskier. He wanted Lambert to feel good, too. _Your fingers,_ Lambert had said. Jaskier knew the lute calluses would provide some interesting friction, so he dragged his fingertips gently up and down the shaft, teasing. 

Lambert thrust up into his grip with a growl that he mostly caught between his teeth. He looked down at Jaskier with narrowed, suspicious eyes, as if he weren’t used to having someone handle his cock. Jaskier didn’t understand why anyone would pass up the opportunity to touch Lambert there--he was so gorgeously responsive, and his prick was firm and plump, with an invitingly dripping pink-tinged crown that made Jaskier want to get his mouth on it. Maybe Lambert would want that next. Jaskier’s lips parted to ask, but try as he might, he couldn’t speak.

Lambert said, in a rather raspy voice, “Not what I meant. Fingers, inside me.”

Jaskier hummed obligingly. That sounded just as pleasant. Without letting go of Lambert’s cock, Jaskier reached his other hand back between Lambert’s spread legs and traced the calloused pads of two fingers around the rim of Lamber’s hole. His entrance was soft and wet, not just from his own juices, but from riding Geralt’s cock. Jaskier sighed happily, remembering the sight. The two of them had looked lovely together. 

Jaskier dipped two fingers inside Lambert and twisted them, teasing the entrance of Lambert’s hole and basking in the high-pitched noises it drew out of him. With enough time, he thought, he could probably make Lambert come just from this. He’d certainly like to try. 

Then Lambert exhaled sharply. He reached down to grab Jaskier’s wrist and pull it up, plunging Jaskier’s fingers as deep as they would go. “More, harder.”

Jaskier complied enthusiastically, thrusting his fingers into Lambert and adjusting the angle to find the reaction he was looking for. He knew he’d succeeded when Lambert ground down against his hand, his mouth falling open on a wordless gasp. Jaskier drew his fingers out, enjoying the sight of excess slick dripping down his wrist, and quickly returned with three. 

_More_ , Lambert had said. _Harder._ Jaskier put his whole strength into finger-fucking Lambert, and resumed stroking his cock besides. His own prick was fully hard now, though Jaskier had no thought to spare for touching himself. Lambert’s breathy noises spurred him on.

“He can take more,” Geralt said, from somewhere beside Jaskier. “Give him your whole hand.”

Jaskier looked up at Lambert, who gave a jerky nod. With a pleased hum, Jaskier drew out, folded his thumb into his fingers, and pushed forward again into the slick, warm opening. Lambert bore down against him, panting as he wriggled against Jaskier, working himself onto his fingers. Then, with a final push, Jaskier’s hand breached him. Lambert pitched forward against Jaskier’s chest, pressing his face into Jaskier’s shoulder. Jaskier gasped at the feeling of Lambert’s fire-hot skin against his, soft where it wasn’t striated with scars. He wanted to give voice to one of the thousand words in his head: “You feel so fucking good,” or “You take me so well,” or “Tell me what you want--I’ll give you anything.” But he couldn’t speak; he could only obey.

From here, Jaskier could smell the need rolling off Lambert in waves, the heat pheromones screaming at Jaskier to _do something_. He pumped his hand inside Lambert, eliciting a groan, and felt a dribble of pre-come spill over the hand on Lambert’s cock. Jaskier shuddered, and hoped desperately that Lambert would want more, soon. 

“Knot, now,” Lambert said shakily. He drew back a bit and scowled down at Jaskier’s open-mouthed stare. “Now.”

Immediately, Jaskier began dragging out his hand, but even so, he wasn’t fast enough. Lambert grabbed Jaskier’s wrist and yanked, wrenching him out with a wet squelch. Tossing Jaskier’s arm aside, Lambert grabbed ahold of Jaskier’s heretofore neglected cock, which nevertheless was perfectly hard, and dropped down onto it, bouncing determinedly until Jaskier’s swollen knot pressed at his entrance. 

“Mine,” Lambert snarled as he braced his hands on Jaskier’s shoulders. “Give it to me. Now.”

Jaskier grabbed Lambert’s hips and urgently thrust up into him. Lambert’s body opened for him, and Jaskier’s knot popped into place. The smell of his heat spiked as Jaskier knotted him, and without even thinking about it, Jaskier’s hand came up to clamp down on the back of Lambert’s neck in a distant echo of a claiming bite. The delicious squeeze of Lambert’s body around his knot knocked Jaskier over the edge, and he shouted as he came, filling Lambert with his seed. Lambert made a high-pitched, strangled noise and curled into Jaskier, his hips jerking as he spilled between them. 

Jaskier slumped back against the mattress, and Lambert collapsed on top of him, breath hot against Jaskier’s bare skin. Jaskier kept his hand on Lambert’s neck and breathed him in, reveling in the scent of satisfied omega and of his own alpha pheromones on Lambert’s skin.

Geralt’s fingers, blessedly cool, brushed against Jaskier’s forehead, and suddenly everything came into sharper focus. Jaskier didn’t feel as pliant and slow. The words that had been stuck in his throat loosened, though his tongue wasn’t quite dexterous enough to form any of them. “Mmm, gah,” was all he could manage. But he immediately used his new-found clarity to wrap his arms around Lambert’s back and press a kiss to the top of his head.

“Hey, I wasn't done with him yet,” Lambert murmured.

“I’m only letting you Axii him once,” Geralt said. He was still petting Jaskier’s hair. His touch sent delicious anticipatory shivers through Jaskier.

“If I’d known that, I might have waited.” Lambert reached up and knocked Geralt’s hand away with an uncoordinated slap. “And hey, at least wait until he’s done knotting me. It’s still my turn.”

“I told you you’d like it,” Geralt said.

“Fuck you.” Lambert shifted, wrapping himself around Jaskier more tightly. “I get him again after you.”

“You should ask Jaskier if he wants you,” Geralt said.

“Mm, yes,” Jaskier said drowsily, marshalling his language into some kind of order. “Want to suck your cock next time, though. Looked too tempting.”

Lambert made a choked noise.

“Let him rest,” Eskel said. He and Coën had broken out their Gwent cards, and Eskel had his feet kicked out in front of him, leaning back at his ease. “You don’t want to wear him out on the first day, do you?”

“You’d better be willing to pick up the slack then,” said Lambert.

“You still have his knot in you,” Coën said incredulously. “Aren’t you ever satisfied for even a minute?”

“You all right?” Geralt asked, brushing his hand over Jaskier’s forehead.

Jaskier hummed agreeably. 

“Good. Sleep. We’ll be here when you wake up.”


	4. Chapter 4

Jaskier wasn’t certain how many days it had been since he’d arrived at Kaer Morhen. Since the quick onset of the rut, his brain had been fogged with need and the drive to slake that need. The smell of more than one omega was a goad he’d never imagined. Every time he woke, he caught the scent of an omega in heat, which stirred him to move, to help, to claim.

Jaskier hadn’t spent many of his ruts with omegas in heat. That was more of a mated pair thing to do, and Jaskier had never had an acknowledged mate. According to his reputation, Jaskier was fun to play with, and generally acknowledged as an enjoyable heat partner if one’s mate wasn’t available. But he was not someone a person would want to bond with. Not someone one would want in your _pack_. Despite his many merits, Jaskier just wasn’t mate material: too unsettled, too indiscriminate in his affections, too lacking in the physical and behavioral characteristics that showed true alpha merit. Also: a bard. Measured against the criteria of what made a good alpha in the eyes of society, Jaskier had been judged sorely wanting. 

So when a rut came along, Jaskier would spend it with an obliging friend: most often a beta, occasionally an omega, and on one memorable occasion, with another alpha. When he’d partnered omegas through their heat without the extra energy the rut provided, he prided himself on being able to take care of the omega’s needs. He had a tongue, after all, and ten extremely dexterous fingers, as well as the creativity to make do with whatever else was at hand. But omega witchers in heat seemed twice as insatiable as regular omegas, and even being in the throes of his own rut couldn’t compensate. 

Still, the rut drove him every moment he was awake. Now that Lambert had deemed him an acceptable partner, he dragged Jaskier with him to ride his cock whenever he wasn’t already occupied. On the first night, Geralt’s heat had grown more intense. He smelled unbelievably inviting, and since then there’d been no reason for Jaskier to hold himself back in indulging the urge to answer that invitation. Coën and Eskel had also been doing their part to keep up with the demands of the witchers’ simultaneous heats. The sounds of sex--the slap of skin on skin, the breathy pants of exertion--became a constant background noise that Jaskier could sleep through without effort. 

At some point--it may have been days into his stay--the scent of heat intensified again. The omega pheromones were already the most concentrated Jaskier had ever experienced, but these new notes of scent had Jaskier nosing around for the source.

Someone had added fuel to the fire in the past few hours, and the blaze in the hearth provided plenty of light even for mortal eyes. Coën was drowsing under a blanket, getting some well-earned rest after having been entertaining Lambert since before dawn. Geralt was lying half underneath Jaskier, Eskel lounged in an armchair at the other end of the room staring down at a book in his lap, and Lambert paced impatiently, occasionally picking at the remnants of previous meals left on the table. Any of the three of them could have been the source of this particular spike in heat. Jaskier’s money was on Lambert, as he seemed even more irritated than usual.

Sure enough, after another moment, Lambert stopped and demanded of the room at large, “Whose turn is it to get breakfast?” 

“I went last time,” Eskel said without looking up.

“I got dinner last night,” Lambert said. “Geralt, you go.”

“Don’t want to,” Geralt grunted into a pillow. “Make Coën do it.”

“Coën’s a fucking guest,” Lambert snapped. “And also still asleep.”

“Oh, I fear I shall starve!” Jaskier swooned against Geralt’s side, throwing his arm up against his forehead in mock woe.

“Ugh.” Geralt pushed Jaskier off and sat up. “Fine.” With ill grace, he pulled on his breeches and boots and stomped out.

Lambert went to peruse the table littered with half-empty demijohns and jugs of mysterious provenance. Eskel, in his sturdy armchair in the corner, set his book aside, clasped his hands in front of him, and stared down at them. One leg bounced rapidly, as if from nerves. He’d put on breeches and a jacket, though the latter hung open, displaying a tempting stretch of muscular chest. Jaskier watched him, enjoying the view, until he realized that the heat scent he was smelling had a slightly different flavor, one he hadn’t smelled before. 

Jaskier draped a blanket around his shoulders, shuffled over to the corner, and threw himself down on the cushioned bench next to Eskel’s chair. This distance left him in no doubt that the new addition to the room’s miasma of hormones was in fact coming from Eskel.

“Heat’s started?” Jaskier asked quietly.

Eskel didn’t look at him. “Thought I had a few more days.”

“Is it a problem? Now you can really join the party.” Jaskier reached a hand towards Eskel, who jerked his arm away from Jaskier’s touch.

“I told you, you don’t have to,” Eskel snapped. He scooted his chair further away for emphasis. “I’m not a pity fuck.”

Jaskier gaped at him. “You are either deeply misinformed or willfully obtuse, my witchery friend. Whoever gave you the impression that any alpha would not be lucky to have you was an idiot.”

Eskel frowned at him, but before he could answer, Lambert broke in, “Ugh, don’t waste your knot on Eskel.” He hoisted an earthenware jug in one hand and took a swig from it.

“Waste it?” Jaskier asked.

“He’s a deviant.” Lambert gestured obscurely with the jug.

“Lambert,” Eskel said warningly. 

“Well, if he’s not going to appreciate it, I’ll take it.” Lambert dropped down next to Jaskier on the bench and grabbed for Jaskier’s cock. When Jaskier batted his hand away with a roll of his eyes, Lambert sat back, scowling, and took another swig. “Ugh, fine.”

“Do you not…” Jaskier said to Eskel, but trailed off, uncertain what to ask. 

Eskel shook his head. He didn’t look at Jaskier, but kept his eyes down. “Not really. Sometimes I feel like I need it, but it’s not what I’m usually interested in.”

“See?” Lambert drawled. “Waste.”

“So, when you’re in heat, what do you like?” Jaskier asked, ignoring Lambert. 

“Same thing I always like, just more of it.”

“And that’s…” Jaskier prompted.

“Not just being knotted.” Eskel looked up at him at last, with a raised eyebrow. “Who do you think was keeping Geralt warm before you came along, bard?”

“Oh!” Jaskier said brightly. He’d assumed that, of course, but Eskel seemed to think the mechanics of that arrangement were somehow more shocking than Jaskier actually found them. “Well, that’s handy.”

“Waste,” Lambert said again. 

“Don’t you have a cock to ride?” Eskel grumbled. “Go wake up Coën.”

“Unbelievable.” Lambert pushed to his feet and sauntered away, back towards the promise of some not-empty bottles.

Jaskier sat watching Eskel, who’d begun bouncing his leg again. It was a restlessness Jaskier understood. “I’m not exactly a proper alpha,” Jaskier said slowly. It was one thing for Lambert to tease Eskel, who was his pack-mate, after all. They’d clearly learned to tolerate each other’s excentricities. But Jaskier was a guest here, and the main reason he’d been invited was for his knot. Geralt knew, of course, but that was different. The other witchers might be disappointed to learn he wasn’t any kind of exemplar of an alpha. But they’d figure it out eventually, so Jaskier may as well explain it on his own terms. “Most people assume I’m a beta. It can be easier that way. Not so many... expectations.”

“Expectations,” Eskel said. “You mean finding a mate, having cubs?”

“No, gods no,” Jaskeir said, laughing. While his parents had certainly held those expectations, they hadn’t been a part of his life in so long that they hardly ever entered into his thinking anymore. “I meant more mundane expectations.”

“Huh.” Eskel looked at him, and a smile tugged at the un-scarred corner of his mouth. “You’ve fucked other alphas.”

“And had them fuck me, yes. Omegas, too.” Jaskier didn’t want there to be any confusion about what he enjoyed, and what he could offer. He’d never actually come out and said that to anyone before, but here, where all the witchers were so easy with each other and free with sharing their pleasure, it didn’t seem like such a damning confession. And if that made Eskel not interested in him, well, there seemed to be little chance of Eskel wanting him anyway. “So. Not exactly living up to the alpha ideal.”

“Well.” Eskel’s eyes drifted up and down Jaskier’s form, and they held an assessing quality they hadn’t before. “You’re full of surprises.”

“Heat drive can be relieved just by being exposed to alpha pheromones. I don’t have to knot you to do that,” Jaskier said. Then, when Eskel said nothing, he elaborated. “You could fuck me, if you want.”

Eskel narrowed his eyes at Jaskier. “You don’t really want that.”

“Why wouldn’t I? I told you I’ve done it before.”

“Don’t get cute.” Eskel’s expression turned fierce, though Jaskier had no idea why.

“Aren’t you supposed to be able to tell when people are lying?” Jaskier asked. “I meant what I said. I expect I would very much enjoy being fucked by you. Lambert seems to quite like taking your cock, and I know he’s a demanding audience.”

“Damn right!” Lambert put in from across the room.

“And you said yourself you’ve been keeping Geralt satisfied for years,” Jaskier pointed out. “You smell extremely tempting, and if you fuck me, I’ll end up with some of your scent on me and be able to enjoy it for awhile, in addition to having what I imagine will be an extremely satisfying climax. Now that we’re talking about it, the idea of having you inside me is turning me on rather a lot. Should I go on?”

“No,” Eskel said faintly.

“So I’ve convinced you?” Jaskier hitched the blanket around his shoulders and came to stand in front of Eskel.

Eskel sat back in his chair and looked up at Jaskier with a wary expression. “You can do as you like.”

“Thank you.” Jaskier climbed onto the chair to straddle Eskel’s lap, and let the blanket slide away. Eskel drew back from him, looking unsure, but Jaskier leaned in to kiss him enthusiastically, confident he could erase whatever reservations Eskel still held by a continued demonstration of his genuine interest. If nothing else, Eskel had to be able to hear his heart beginning to speed up in pleasant anticipation.

Jaskier ground down into Eskel’s lap, sighing in relief at the contact. The scent of Eskel’s rising heat stoked Jaskier’s rut as well, and any thoughts he’d had about the chill air or his rumbling stomach were entirely forgotten as he breathed Eskel in. Omega pheromones were quite effective at their task of making Jaskier desperate for sex, and even if they hadn’t been, Jaskier was finding the idea of Eskel fucking him extremely motivating. He pushed at Eskel’s jacket to make more room for his hands to explore Eskel’s very finely muscled chest. That simply wasn’t enough skin, so he pulled at the ties on Eskel’s breeches until he could slip a hand inside to fondle Eskel’s cock.

Eskel clutched the arms of the chair and threw his head back as Jaskier stroked him. That alone was enough to dull the painfully urgent edge of his rut--he was taking care of his omega. _Not his_ , Jaskier’s mind insisted on reminding him, but Jaskier pushed the thought away. Eskel’s cock was already fully hard, plump and warm in Jaskier’s hand. Promisingly thick, with a nice rounded head, it was going to feel amazing going in. And coming out. And going in again. 

“This was a wonderful idea.” Jaskier tore with one hand at the laces on Eskel’s breeches, searching for better access. “I need your cock in me. Come on.”

“Wait,” Eskel said warningly.

Jaskier paused in his stroking, but couldn’t bring himself to let go of Eskel’s cock. If he was going to call this off, Jaskier would just enjoy his last few moments of feeling Eskel against him and breathing in his scent.

“We have to get you ready first,” Eskel murmured. He pressed a kiss into Jaskier’s hair. “May I?”

Jaskier nodded against Eskel’s shoulder. He was going to be allowed to stay. He felt lust-drunk and hazy, high on the potent omega pheromones drifting off Eskel’s skin. 

Eskel curled his hands around the globes of Jaskier’s ass and spread him gently. “Go on,” he said over Jaskier’s shoulder.

Jaskier started as he felt slick fingers prod at his entrance. He turned his head to see Lambert kneeling behind him, rubbing two fingers against Jaskier’s hole. Lambert paused, reached between his legs to gather some of his own slick, and returned to his work, dipping his fingers into Jaskier to open him up.

“How’s he feel?” Eskel asked.

“Fucking tight.” Lambert’s eyes were fixed on his fingers where they disappeared into Jaskier. 

“Gonna need more slick, then.”

“I’ve got plenty.”

Jaskier groaned and leaned his head forward against Eskel as Lambert worked his fingers in deeper. It had been awhile since anyone but Geralt had wanted to fuck Jaskier. Partners almost invariably expected an alpha to insist on doing the penetrating, to be aggressive and domineering, to live up to all the alpha stereotypes. Jaskier, being a born performer, was usually happy to oblige. But being good at one thing didn’t mean it was the only thing he enjoyed. 

Geralt had always understood that, and despite that fact had still seen fit to invite Jaskier here for his rut, so perhaps witchers didn’t subscribe to all the same expectations as the rest of humanity. And if taking Eskel’s cock made the other witchers decide Jaskier’s knot wasn’t worth having, well, at least he’d already enjoyed a more pleasurable rut than he’d ever imagined. 

“You’ve gotten awfully quiet, bard.” Eskel’s voice rumbled in his chest, palpable where Jaskier pressed against him. 

Lambert hummed, a smug note. “Stunned into silence by my talented--”

“Shut up,” Eskel rumbled, and looked at Jaskier. “What are you thinking?”

Nothing. Jaskier was focused on the good thing about to happen, not the bad things that might. “That I’m ready to take your cock.” Jaskier put a finger under Eskel’s chin and tipped his face up for a kiss. Eskel let Jaskier control the pace, and Jaskier indulged himself by pressing a tongue inside Eskel’s mouth and feeling him first tense and then relax again as Jaskier’s tongue traced over the scar-puckered side of his lip and continued without pause. Reluctantly, Jaskier drew back and asked, “Shall we?”

Eskel flexed his fingers against Jaskier’s ass. “What do you think, Lambert? Is he ready?”

Lambert twisted his fingers, sending a shudder through Jaskier, then drew them out. “Go ahead.”

“Here, move.” Eskel lifted Jaskier by the waist with unfair ease and turned him so he faced out to the room and could settle his knees on either side of Eskel’s legs. Lambert braced his hands on Jaskier’s thighs and looked over Jaskier’s naked form and the hard cock bobbing between his legs with an expression of a man about to enjoy a good meal. Eskel rumbled his satisfaction. 

Jaskier whined, turning his head to the side to look for another kiss, but Eskel didn’t oblige him. 

“Hush. You’ll enjoy that view more. Open up for me.” With one hand on his cock and another on Jaskier’s waist, Eskel guided Jaskier back and down, impaling Jaskier on his fat cock. The blunt head of it stretched Jaskier deliciously, and he squirmed as he sank down further. The musky smell of omega pheromones washed over him, and he felt a sharp stab of desire; he wanted to satisfy his omega, give him everything he wanted. He wanted more of Eskel inside him, wanted Eskel to split him in half. 

Too soon, Jaskier found himself fully seated, Eskel’s cock lodged firmly inside him. Lambert’s hands were curled over Eskel’s as they both pushed Jaskier down, ensuring Eskel was as deep as he could go. Jaskier let out a shuddery breath as he leaned back against Eskel’s chest. He curled a hand around the base of his cock, standing out flushed and proud from his body, squeezing tight around his knot until it was almost painful; he didn’t want this to end too soon. 

Eskel pulled Jaskier’s arms back and held onto his forearms to give him leverage. “Now, ride me.”

“Oh.” Jaskier’s cock twitched at the thought, and Lambert smirked up at him. “Fuck yes.”

Jaskier lifted himself up slowly, thigh muscles already shaking, then let the tension of Eskel’s grip pull him back onto Eskel’s cock. Jaskier groaned happily. He hadn’t known he’d wanted this so badly, but now he couldn’t fathom why he’d failed to ask for this in the first place. Eskel was incredibly talented. His cock may not have been the longest Jaskier had ever encountered, but Eskel certainly knew how to make the most of his omega anatomy. 

“Well, bard?” Eskel’s voice was rich and warm in his ear, sending another shudder of pleasure through him. “Like it?”

“Of course he does. Look at that face. Here, let me.” Lambert knelt up and swiped his tongue over the head of Jaskier’s cock. 

Jaskier shuddered and bucked his hips forward, looking for more. 

“Uh-uh.” Eskel dragged Jaskier back by the arms, filling Jaskier up with his length. “Not so fast. Don’t want to come too soon, do we?”

Jaskier shook his head slowly, though he would have acquiesced to anything Eskel had asked. There wasn’t room in his thoughts for anything but the spiraling pleasure that drove him higher and higher.

Lambert drew back to watch the two of them moving together, his lips parted as he stroked his own cock. Then, looking up at him with an expression Jaskier may have called smug, Lambert leaned in to swirl his tongue around the head of Jaskier’s cock until Jaskier was whimpering and writhing in Eskel’s lap. 

“Please,” Jaskier gasped. His climax was rising slowly but inexorably, and he wouldn’t be able to stave it off for long. But he would try, if it meant giving Eskel what he needed. 

“You want more?” Eskel asked.

“Yes,” Jaskier groaned, or thought he did. He was starting to lose the distinction between his own body and the bodies of the others as they moved in and around him.

“Go on, Lambert, be nice to him,” Eskel said.

Lambert pulled back and wiped a hand across his mouth. “Only because I want to,” he grumbled, then leaned forward to push his mouth down onto Jaskier’s cock, swallowing him almost to the knot.

“Fuck, your mouth feels…” Jaskier dissolved into a long groan as his cock hit the back of Lambert’s throat and he felt Lambert swallow around him. “Fuck.”

“Go on, bardling.” Eskel pressed a kiss against Jaskier’s shoulder. “Move.”

It took three tries for Jaskier to coordinate his body enough to ride Eskel, pushing up onto his knees and further into Lambert’s mouth, then sinking back down, feeling Eskel’s thick cock stretching him. 

Eskel pushed his face up against Jaskier’s back, breathing him in, and scraped his teeth against the base of Jaskier’s neck. He didn’t break skin, but the gesture was so intimate, so like something a pack-mate would do, that Jaskier choked back the high, breathy sound that threatened to escape. It was just an instinct that came with heat; it didn’t mean anything. 

Eskel’s hands shifted to Jaskier’s hips, and he set an urgent pace, bouncing Jaskier on his cock as Lambert held still and let Jaskier fuck his mouth. Jaskier had only to let himself be manhandled between the two witchers as they took their pleasure. He grabbed onto the arms of the chair and gritted his teeth to fight back his orgasm, but it was a hopeless battle.

Eskel grunted and dug his fingers into Jaskier’s skin as he came. Without missing a beat, he slung an arm across Jaskier’s chest and pulled Jaskier tight against him. Lambert’s mouth popped free with a wet sound, and Eskel wrapped his fingers around Jaskier’s cock and stroked him until he spilled, jerking against Eskel’s grip as his cock pulsed, spurting across his belly and Eskel’s hand.

With a final groan, Jaskier melted back against Eskel, boneless and pliant. Eskel’s softening cock slipped free of Jaskier, and he felt the hot spend dripping out of him with no knot to hold it in. Thinking of his ass fucked wide open by Eskel’s thick cock produced a groan and another feeble twitch of his cock. 

“Yeah, he liked it,” Lambert said. He leaned in to lick at the stripes of issue painting Jaskier’s belly. 

“Seems that way.” Eskel swiped his hand through the mess and pushed his fingers into Jaskier’s slack mouth. Jaskier closed his lips around them languidly and sucked them clean. He was happy to do whatever Eskel wanted of him. In fact, he could just stay here until Eskel was ready to go again. That would be fine. Lambert dragged his tongue once more across Jaskier’s cock to clean the last drop of come clinging to him, making Jaskier jerk at the stimulation over his over-sensitive cock, then brought his fingers to his mouth to lick them clean of his own climax. 

“Well?” Eskel said after a moment.

Jaskier’s eyes drifted open, and he turned his head, but Eskel wasn’t looking at him. Jaskier followed his gaze to see Geralt standing in front of the door holding a steaming pot of porridge by the handle. His eyes were wide, and his cock strained against the front of his breeches.

“I brought breakfast.” Geralt set the pot down on the table with the rest of the food, but didn’t take his eyes off of Jaskier. “You hungry?”

Jaskier nodded, licking his lips. With a steadying hand from Eskel, he managed to get his feet under him and stumble towards Geralt. He fell against Geralt’s chest, but Geralt was conveniently able to catch him by the arms and hold him up as Jaskier devoted all his attention to kissing Geralt. 

The rest of the day passed in something of a blur. Jaskier touched and was touched, fucked and was fucked, his rut kindled again and again by the splendid, all-encompassing scent of omegas in heat. Being in season hadn’t ever felt quite like this: surrounded by so much need that he could only stumble from one partner to another, always another lust to sate, another need to fulfill. There was so much to do, he couldn’t bring himself to stop. He didn’t want to stop. He wouldn’t stop.


	5. Chapter 5

“Boy.” A harsh voice intruded into Jaskier’s sleep. “Hey, songster.”

“Hm?” Jaskier pried his eyes open and blinked up at the backlit form looming over him.

“Stand up.”

“Do I have to?” He was so tired. It would be pleasant to close his eyes again and sink back into the mattress.

“Yes, you do.” Someone grabbed him firmly by the arm and hauled him easily upright with the unfair advantage of witcher strength. “Put these on.”

Breeches. That’s what those were. Jaskier knew what those were for. The arm held him steady as he wrestled his uncooperative legs into their cloth prison.

“You, calm down. You too, Geralt,” the man snapped. “I’ll bring him back.”

“Where are we going?” Jaskier asked. He blinked, and found his vision hazy with exhaustion. In fact, walking made him a little dizzy. The man steered him out of the cloying warmth of the hall, through a drafty corridor, and into another warm room, sparkling with sunlight. So it was daytime. That was nice. 

“Sit, pup.”

A firm hand shoved him into a straight backed chair, and Jaskier was delighted to find a table in front of him onto which he could lay his head. He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, but eventually a wonderful smell (there were wonderful smells other than the smell of an omega in need?) reached him, and he cracked open one eye. 

A plate with fried eggs, plump sausages, and grilled toast with jam sat before him. With a pleased hum, Jaskier began digging in. After a few bites, he realized he was desperately thirsty. He grabbed at the mug beside the plate, and guzzled the contents. 

The witcher, with a salt and pepper moustache and long hair brushed back from his stern face, had taken the seat across from Jaskier. Now he rose, grabbed the mug, and refilled it from a cask sitting on a shelf. 

Jaskier blearily looked around at what must be the kitchen: an enormous oven against the far wall, a lengthy wooden table with flour dusted over part of it, pans hanging from the ceiling. He’d been in the kitchen before, surely. How long had he been here now?

The witcher pressed the refilled mug into Jaskier’s hand. “Drink.”

Jaskier did, expecting ale, but it was water, cold and delicious. He drained the whole thing, and looked up at the witcher with a hopeful smile. The witcher sighed, and took the mug for another refill before returning it and dropping into his chair again. 

“You’re Vesemir,” Jaskier said as his sluggish brain arrived at the obvious conclusion. Feeling triumphant, he returned to shoveling food into his mouth.

Vesemir fixed him with a furious glare. “Are you trying to kill yourself?”

“Wd’y’mean?” Jaskier asked around a mouthful of toast.

“You’re a human, boy,” Vesemir said, slowly and clearly, as if Jaskier might be an imbecile. “Those are witchers in there. They’ll fuck you into the ground if you don’t watch yourself.”

Jaskier stopped with a spoonful of eggs halfway to his mouth, and returned Vesemir’s glare with one of his own. “They’re not beasts. They wouldn’t hurt me. ”

“Not on purpose.” Vesemir leaned back in his chair, and the lines of his scowl eased fractionally. “But you don’t know what heat is like for them. At the best of times, they need careful control over their strength. When they’re like this…” Vesemir glanced at the door. “They don’t have their usual quick reflexes. And they certainly don’t have the clarity of mind to remember that you’re a weak, breakable human who doesn’t have witcher stamina.”

“Thanks for the tip.” Jaskier pushed down the longstanding supply of rage that always arose when some well-meaning human told him, with condescending concern, that witchers were dangerous animals and that he should watch himself around that kind of creature. That wasn’t what Vesemir meant, surely, and the urge Jaskier felt to punch him in the face was just the adrenaline of the rut coursing through him. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I’m not upset that you’re here.” Vesemir tilted his head a fraction, and his mouth moved into a configuration he might have recognizable as a smile if it hadn’t come with such a piercing gaze. “I’ve been wanting to meet you. And your efforts have certainly made the heat more tolerable for the boys this year. But if you’re injured, Geralt will never forgive himself. You know that, don’t you?”

“I--” Jaskier gaped for a moment, then forced out a chuckle. So he was funny, this Vesemir, with his jokes. Geralt was fond of Jaskier, of course, or he wouldn’t have brought him, but he’d seen Jaskier injured before now with only mild concern and no appearance of self-recrimination. “Right, of course. Well, he’d get over it eventually. After an appropriate mourning period.”

Vesemir grunted, and did not look pleased. “I know your judgement isn’t the best either, with your rut going on. But you have a responsibility to pace yourself.”

“I’m fine,” Jaskier said quickly, but as he took stock, he realized he might not be. He was sore, as if he’d taken a beating, and he could barely keep his eyes open. 

“Don’t bullshit me, boy,” Vesemir said, shaking his head. “I’ve been working with impetuous younglings longer than you’ve been alive. Just look at you. You’re ready to pass out mid-tie.”

“I just need a nap.” Jaskier had been napping, in fact, very responsibly, before he was so rudely interrupted with a hot breakfast. “Then I can go back and help.”

“You’re not helping anyone in this state.”

“I want to give them everything,” Jaskier said, though he hadn’t really meant to. But then again, what did he have to be ashamed of? An alpha was _supposed_ to take care of his omegas. _Not his_ , he reminded himself again, but still, Geralt had brought him here for a reason. Yes, the witchers could endure their heats without an alpha, but they didn’t have to. Not if Jaskier could help it. “They deserve everything.”

Vesemir regarded him for a moment, then crossed his arms over his chest. “From now on, you rest. Sleep, eat, and drink something. Even if you don’t feel like it. If I see you’ve been endangering yourself, I’ll throw you out.”

Jaskier did not feel any panic at that declaration. In fact, he was starting to see Vesemir’s family resemblance to Geralt. “No, you won’t.”

“Fine.” Vesemir sighed and looked at the ceiling. “I’ll lock you in your room so you can’t let those hooligans fuck you to death.”

“That’s fair,” Jaskier said, sipping primly at his water.

“Huh.” Vesemir narrowed his eyes at Jaskier. “So you’re not a complete idiot.”

“Just partial,” Jaskier confirmed. “On my father’s side.”

“I see why Geralt likes you. He’s a smartass, too.” Vesemir’s mouth moved just a tiny bit, as if he were suppressing a smile. Then he took Jaskier’s empty plate to the stove, piled some more eggs and toast onto it and a second plate, then brought both back to the table. He ate, still looking speculatively at Jaskier. Eventually, he said, “There is an elixir.”

“Uh.” Jaskier tried to determine if Vesemir was joking again, but couldn’t read him well enough to know. “Witcher elixirs kill humans, don’t they?”

“This is a recipe that’s been in the records a while. Formulated for humans. You’re not the first human alpha to attempt to play with a witcher.”

“Oh?” Jaskier would dearly love to hear stories about that. Or perhaps there were records in that witcher library Geralt was always talking about. But that was an undertaking for another time. “What does it do?”

“It would make your rut last longer and be more… intense. You’d still need to take care of yourself, mind.” Vesemir’s expression turned stern. “It wouldn’t make you invincible. But it might give you a bit more stamina for a while.”

“Can I…? Yes? Please.” Jaskier pushed his empty plate aside and leaned forward. “Are you just telling me this to tease me, or do you have some of this stuff?”

“I can make it.” Vesemir’s expression became firm. “And I’ll give it to you if you behave yourself properly for the next twenty-four hours.”

Jaskier looked at Vesemir and thought for a moment of how easily Geralt complied when Jaskier bossed him around, and how ready he was to believe he had to prove himself over and over. He thought of what growing up here, training as a witcher, had been like. 

“Are you still like this with them?” Jaskier asked. “They’re not boys anymore.”

“They’re all still boys to me,” Vesemir grumbled.

“Well, among humans, I’m considered an adult. I’ll give you my word that I’ll behave, and you give me the elixir.” A slow smile rose on Jaskier’s face. “You already have it made, don’t you?”

“Your word, bard.” Vesemir drew from the pocket of his jacket a small bottle with a green wax seal, and held it up.

“I promise.”  
\--

When Jaskier returned from the kitchen with Vesemir at his side, all four witchers crowded around him. They’d put on clothes or dressing gowns, and put the room in a bit of order. Or at least, somehow made it smell less strongly of sex and pheromones.

“You.” Vesemir took them all in with a stern look. “You need to be more careful. Jaskier is to rest today. Sleep, and eat, and that’s all.” Vesemir shot a glance at Eskel. “I thought you at least would know better.”

Jaskier has never seen a man Eskel’s size shrink so far into himself, like a dog with its tail between its legs. Beside him, Geralt looked almost equally chagrined. Lambert glared daggers, which wasn’t any different from his usual expression.

“We’re sorry, Vesemir,” Coën said, with perfect politeness and a slightly bowed head.

“Hmph.” Vesemir swept his eyes over them again. “Don’t make me come back down here.” Once the door closed behind Vesemir with an emphatic thud, they all pressed in around Jaskier. None of them touched him, but there was some thoroughly unsubtle sniffing. 

“Are you hurt?” Geralt’s eyes were scanning him ceaselessly, looking for injury. “Did we hurt you?”

“I’m not some delicate flower,” Jaskier said. He patted Geralt’s shoulder. “I’m not hurt. I’m just tired.”

“Come lie down.” Coën took Jaskier’s arm and led him to the mattress nearest the fire, where he covered Jaskier with several blankets and brushed his hair back from his forehead. Jaskier thought he should probably object to being herded to bed like a child, but he didn’t have it in him. 

“Rest, now,” Coën said.

“I could do that,” Jaskier muttered, and closed his eyes.

He awoke later to a mostly silent room, still as it hadn’t been at almost any time since he’d arrived. He’d no idea whether it was night or day. The fire had mostly burned down, and he could barely make out Coën’s form sitting at the foot of the mattress, watching him. 

“What’s going on?” Jaskier asked as he rubbed his hand over his tired eyes. 

“You’re going to eat some food and go back to bed,” Coën said.

“Is everyone alright?” Jaskier could still smell the damp, heavy scent of heat, but couldn’t tell where it was coming from. He couldn’t make out any movement in the darker recesses of the room.

“They’re fine.” Coën held out a plate holding a selection of cheese and meat and bread, which looked quite good. “Here, eat something.”

Jaskier, however, had a more pressing concern. His cock was fully hard, straining against his breeches. It was difficult to concentrate on anything with the smell of omegas so close. After several days of having his rut thoroughly satisfied, going so many hours without release had created a nearly unbearable need. “I’m… I’m a little distracted.”

“Fine,” Coën sighed, setting the plate aside. “One, only one.” Coën turned and had a brief, whispered discussion Jaskier couldn’t make out with the owners of several sets of yellow eyes far enough away from the light of the fire that Jaskier couldn’t make out whom they belonged to. Then Coën said, “No, let Geralt,” and stepped away.

Almost immediately Geralt appeared at his side, materializing out of the dark as he often had when returning from a hunt. He looked almost as wild-eyed and on-edge as he was after monster-slaying. “Jaskier. You all right?”

“Oh thank fuck, I am now. Here.” Jaskier dragged Geralt down beside him. Geralt was already blessedly naked, so Jaskier could reach between his legs and grasp Geralt’s cock as he wrapped his other hand around the back of Geralt’s neck and pulled him closer. “Can I fuck you?” he whispered into Geralt’s ear as he slid his cock against Geralt’s belly. “Can I?”

“Always.” Geralt sounded short of breath already, and his eyes were nearly black, just a thin ring of gold left. His cock was filling out quickly, and Jaskier adjusted his grip to squeeze them both together. Geralt rumbled and nosed against Jaskier’s neck, breathing in his scent. “Whatever you want.”

Jaskier let go and slid his fingers further down between Geralt’s legs, delving into the wet warmth he found there. There was plenty of slick of Geralt’s own making to ease the way, but Jaskier thought there might be some of a thicker stickiness that squelched deliciously as he twisted his fingers. “Has someone else been taking care of you?” he asked with a chuckle.

“Yes.” Geralt froze in his grip. “Jaskier--is it--?”

“Relax.” Jaskier pushed his fingers in deeper, pre-empting Geralt’s protests and making him press back against Jaskier’s touch. “I told you, I want you to have everything you need. Everything you want. Who do I have to thank, hm? Whose seed is inside you?”

“Eskel,” Geralt said softly. “And Coën. And Eskel again.”

“How long was I asleep?” Jaskier asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Hours.”

“I’m here now.” Jaskier twisted his fingers inside Geralt and groaned. “Fuck, you feel so good. I’m happy they kept you loose and open for me. Can you take me?”

“Yes. Please. Yes.”

“Roll over.” Jaskier let go and tapped Geralt’s hip, and he turned to kneel and present. “Good boy.”

Geralt shuddered, and Jaskier filed that reaction away to consider later. Now, he guided his cock into Geralt’s welcoming hole. Geralt took him in easily and reached back to grab Jaskier’s ass to drag him closer. 

“You’re so wet.” Jaskier looked down. Someone had stoked the fire back to life, and he had the pleasure of watching his cock disappearing into Geralt’s body. “I love the way you feel. Fuck, Geralt.”

Jaskier heard a strangled noise and turned his head to see Lambert and Eskel sitting on the next mattress over, watching intently with eyes that glowed in the firelight. Coën, he noted, had resumed his perch at the foot of the mattress.

“Fuck. We all love watching you take it.” Jaskier moved, slowly at first, savoring the delicious clench as he slid in and out. Geralt pushed back against him, impatient, and Jaskier was only too happy to oblige. He thrust faster, and adjusted his angle until Geralt threw his head back and whined.

Eskel made a strangled, breathy sound from nearby. Jaskier clamped his hands around Geralt’s hips and tried to focus on what he was doing, lest noises like that make him finish faster than he meant to. Geralt braced himself on one hand so he could stroke himself in time with Jaskier’s thrusts, seemingly unconcerned with an early end. Jaskier hadn’t ever seen Geralt so open to pleasure, so willing to indulge as this. It suited him.

“The way you sound, the way you smell, fuck,” Jaskier moaned. “If I could, I would do this all night. Keep you filled up with my cock, then let you get me hard again and keep going. You’d be so fucking full of me.” He pressed his hand flat against Geralt’s belly, imagining he could feel his cock inside. “Gods. You’d smell like me, like my--”

 _My mate? My pack?_ Jaskier’s rut-crazed mind struggled against the instinct to say what he wanted and find something Geralt might actually enjoy hearing. He settled on, “My omega. Everyone would know you’d been well-serviced. Will you come for me? Can you come on my cock?”

Geralt writhed against him, and Jaskier curled his hand around Geralt’s length so Geralt could brace himself with both hands and push up through Jaskier’s fist as Jaskier fucked him. 

“Can you do that for me, love?” Jaskier pressed a kiss to the back of Geralt’s neck. Geralt moaned and shuddered, spilling against the linens and Jaskier’s hand. The smell sent Jaskier over the edge as well. He pushed Geralt onto his belly and rutted into him, pushing his knot inside just before he came. He clung to Geralt as the aftershocks kept coming, trembling through him in wave after wave. At last, he slumped against Geralt’s sweat-slick back.

“Fuck,” Lambert said emphatically. “Come on. Now.”

Jaskier turned his head to see Lambert pushing to his feet and dragging Eskel away by the wrist. He sighed contentedly and rolled Geralt back over so they were on their sides again, still firmly tied. Geralt slumped against him, eyes closed, breathing gradually slowing.

“Are you falling asleep on me?” Jaskier whispered.

“Tired,” Geralt muttered.

“He hasn’t slept since yesterday,” Coën said. He held another plate of food, and he settled himself cross-legged on Geralt’s other side. “Here, you need to eat before you can go back to sleep.”

“Uh, a little predisposed.” Jaskier gestured to where he was locked inside Geralt.

“Something wrong with your hands? Here.” Coën cut a slice of cheese and held it out. Jaskier took it, propped his head up with one hand, and chewed. The cheese was sharp and crumbly--delicious. Beneath him, Geralt’s breathing evened out into something like sleep.

Coën handed him a piece of dried fruit, and Jaskier ate that, too. Then Coën took out a small knife and cut the cured meat--venison, perhaps--into pieces that Jaskier took directly from his hand. Jaskier’s blinks gave way to short, drowsy breaths as Coën fed him. Jaskier hadn’t realized how much he’d eaten until Coën set the plate aside.

Art by [jerry-of-rivia](https://jerry-of-rivia.tumblr.com/)

“You certain you’re all right?” Coën asked.

“You don’t need to treat me like spun glass.” Jaskier’s eyes snapped open. This was an important point to make, he felt. “I’m actually quite sturdy.”

“Are you certain you haven’t been injured? You’d remember it if you were?”

“Uh.” Jaskier looked down at himself, then back up at Coën, eyes narrowed. “Yes?”

“It’s not the same for us. I’m not an omega, but when I’ve taken certain elixirs, I’ve lost myself entirely. Sometimes I don’t know what I’ve done.” Coën’s face, usually pleasant and open, had gone shuttered and distant. He looked down and brushed a stray strand of hair out of Geralt’s face. “Heat brings a similar kind of madness. They could easily have hurt you and not known it.”

“No one here would hurt me,” Jaskier said. He reached over to catch Coën’s hand and lace their fingers together, so Coën would know he was included in that statement.

“I don’t think they would, no. But imagine how it must feel for them, to have that fear.” Coën was still looking down at Geralt, though Jaskier wasn’t certain he was seeing the man. “They deserve a chance to fuss a little.”

Jaskier couldn’t help but smile. “Maybe they do. What’s your excuse?”

“Well, you’re letting me, aren’t you? Hasn’t Geralt told you that when a griffin moves in, you must roust them immediately, or before you know it they’ll be eating all the sheep, tearing up thatched roofs for their nests, and cuddling up to you in the most abominable way.” Coën squeezed Jaskier’s hand, then pulled away and sat up. “Anyway, you need to sleep again.” Coën pulled a blanket up over Jaskier and Geralt together, tucking in the edges carefully. “You wouldn’t want to get me in trouble with Papa Vesemir.”

“Heavens no,” Jaskier said as he slung an arm over Geralt’s waist and snuggled in close. “We wouldn’t want that.”


	6. Chapter 6

Jaskier drifted awake to the sound of arguing. He pried his eyes open to see Lambert standing at the foot of the mattress, looming over a seated, half-dressed Eskel.

“How long does he need to rest, anyway?” Lambert scowled.

“Until he’s not tired anymore,” Eskel said.

“Who’s not tired?” Jaskier asked blearily. 

“Morning, Jaskier.” Eskel stood and picked up a plate from the nearby table. “Here, we saved you some breakfast.”

Lambert crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Jaskier. “Are you ready to fuck yet?”

“Manners,” Eskel said sharply. He handed Jaskier the plate, which held several thick slices of bread, each spread with something different. “Take your time. It’s important to keep your strength up.”

“Keep something else up…” Lambert grumbled.

“You want Eskel to fuck you?” Jaskier asked, then shoved a piece of bread in his mouth and chewed, watching Lambert’s face contort and Eskel’s eyebrows lift at the unexpected direction of the conversation. If Jaskier wasn’t up to doing the deed himself, he may as well do what he could to facilitate satisfying the omegas in his care.

Lambert slanted a quick look at Eskel, shrugged, and said, “Well, someone should.”

“Do you want to?” Jaskier asked Eskel.

Eskel looked Lambert over, and a faint smile touched his lips. “Wouldn’t mind it.”

“Lambert, what do you want?” Jaskier asked.

“To get fucked. Am I speaking Nilfgaardian here?” Lambert gestured obscenely. “Dick, ass, now.”

“Right,” Jaskier said cheerfully. “You should lie down then. Over here.” Jaskier jerked his chin at the mattress. “On your back.”

Lambert glared at him for a long moment, then complied with only minimal grumbling. 

“Eskel,” Jaskier said as he selected another slice of bread. “What does Lambert like for foreplay?”

“Foreplay?” Lambert fumed. “Did you not hear me? I--”

“Shut up,” Eskel snapped, and amazingly, Lambert did. “He likes to be eaten out.”

“You want to?” Jaskier asked. He noticed Lambert was also watching closely for Eskel’s answer.

“Yeah.” Eskel dropped to his knees on the mattress. “Come here.” Eskel pushed Lambert’s legs apart and lowered his face to plunge between them, nudging his balls aside. Lambert made a strangled noise and threw his head back. With a muffled hum of contentment, Eskel hitched Lambert’s legs over his shoulders, looking for a better angle. He grabbed hold of Lambert’s hips and sat up, pulling Lambert up with him until Lambert was balanced on his shoulders with most of his weight in Eskel’s hands. Lambert whined and clutched at Eskel, but he didn’t protest.

“Was he right, Lambert?” Jaskier asked. “Do you like that?”

“It’s fine,” Lambert gritted out. His handsome little prick was fully hard, standing out flushed against a dark thatch of hair. “Rather have a cock.”

“You want Eskel to fuck you on your knees or your back?”

Lambert squirmed as Eskel licked him, squeezing his eyes shut, and took a moment to answer. “Don’t care.”

“Yeah,” Jasier said, licking a bit of jam off his thumb. “But which one?”

Lambert took several more deep breaths before he managed to say, “Back.”

“Convenient, since you’re mostly there already,” Jaskier said. He was almost reluctant to move things along, since the sight of Eskel holding Lambert in place for his mouth, the _sounds_ they were both making, were delightful. But Jaskier didn’t actually intend to make Lambert wait unnecessarily. “Eskel, is he ready to take you?”

Eskel reluctantly eased Lambert back down, wiped a hand across his mouth, and nodded. His eyes were glassy, his cock stiff and bulging out the front of his breeches.

“Good. You’d better get your kit off, then. Or, Lambert, do you want him dressed?”

“No,” Lambert snapped. He had a hand wrapped around his cock, squeezing tight, and his eyes clenched shut in an attempt to hold back his climax.

“Well, then it sounds like you should get naked, Eskel. I don’t disagree with his choice. It’s quite an enticing sight.” Jaskier allowed him to be distracted for a moment by Eskel’s well-muscled chest as he stripped off his shirt. “Tell me, what else does Lambert like?”

As he pulled off his breeches, Eskel looked over at Lambert, stretched out before him like a feast. “He likes to be shoved around a bit. Manhandled.”

“Hey!” Lambert protested, but didn’t move from where Eskel had put him.

“I bet there aren’t many out in the world who can do that, are there?” Jaskier asked.

“ _Nobody_ can do that unless I let them,” Lambert growled, though the intended effect was somewhat undermined by the way his hips bucked up, seeking friction.

“Are you gonna let Eskel?” Jaskier took a swig of water, pretending not to watch Lambert. 

“Yeah, fine,” Lambert said at last, a bit breathlessly.

“Eskel, that’s your cue.”

Eskel dropped back onto the mattress, then grabbed Lambert by the ankle to pull him closer. Lambert kicked at him, Eskel dropped his weight onto Lambert’s chest and they tussled for a moment, until Lambert had his ankles wrapped around Eskel’s back and a hand clenched in his hair, and Eskel’s hands pinned Lambert by the shoulders. They were both breathing hard, eyes locked on one another. 

“You want him to fuck you now?” Jaskier asked.

“Yeah,” Lambert panted.

“Eskel?”

Eskel reached down to wrap a hand around his hard cock and guide it into Lambert’s dripping hole. Lambert pulled himself up by his legs to take more, throwing his head back against the mattress and baring his neck to Eskel, who immediately brought his mouth down to suck a bruise onto Lambert’s throat. 

After that, Jaskier didn’t need to give much instruction. Instinct, or perhaps habit, took over, and before long Lambert was gasping as Eskel pounded him into the mattress. The sight was riveting. Jaskier thought he would be content to watch the two of them coupling every day of his life. And if they had no interest in that, at least he could count himself fortunate that he had the opportunity now.

Jaskier finished his breakfast as he watched. By the time Eskel spilled into Lambert’s tense body, Jaskier was free to crawl over and tug at Lambert’s cock, setting him off as well. The two witchers collapsed into the sheets, Lambert clinging to Eskel, and Eskel’s face still buried in Lambert’s neck.

After a moment, Lambert huffed and shoved at Eskel’s shoulder. Eskel rolled off of him to sprawl out on his back, limbs splayed wide. Lambert wiped his face and gulped in air, apparently trying not to look too wrecked. 

His eyes lit on Jaskier, and he bared his teeth in a credible sneer. “You finished resting?”

“Uh-huh,” Jaskier said brightly. His cock had taken a keen interest in the proceedings, and he felt ready to exert himself again.

“Good.” Lambert beckoned to him. “You can give me your knot now.”

“Manners,” Eskel rumbled from the other side of the mattress.

Lambert rolled his eyes, but said, “Please.”

Jaskier couldn’t hold back a delighted grin. “It would be my pleasure.”  
\--

When Jaskier next woke, Coën was crouched next to the fire, stirring a pot of something. Eskel and Geralt were curled up in each other’s arms, snoring gently.

“You should have woken me up,” Jaskier said. He had no idea what time it was, or even what day. Surely Eskel wasn’t still sleeping off the exertions he’d witnessed. Which means he’d been shirking his duties long enough. “I’m fine.”

“Eskel said you needed the rest.” Coën glanced over his shoulder and gave Jaskier a pleasant smile. “Besides, it makes sense if we alternate. Would you like some mulled wine?”

Something warm sounded delicious. Jaskier stretched languidly and said, ”Please.”

Coën ladled some steaming liquid into two tankards, handed one to Jaskier, then settled himself on the mattress next to him, lounging against a pile of pillows. 

“It’s a damn good thing you’re here. Obviously I’m not best qualified to keep up with this lot.” Jaskier took a cautious taste of the steaming wine--nicely spiced, with a definite kick to it. “Well done on this, by the way.”

“One of my many talents.”

Right. Coën was a highly trained witcher, with many skills beyond fucking. He hadn’t yet had much chance to exchange conversation with the man outside of their time in bed. Jaskier regarded him for a moment, and Coën looked back at him with one eyebrow raised. “Tell me, what brings you to Kaer Morhen? Why did you decide to come here for the winter?”

Coën wrapped his hands around his tankard and stared into his wine. “The Griffins don’t have a keep of their own anymore, so I didn’t have plans. And Lambert asked me.” Coën shook his head. “Well. He hinted at it and pretended he cared not at all, then grudgingly said I could if I wanted.”

“Have you known Lambert long?” Jaskier asked. He realized he had no idea how old Coën was--he could be twice Jaskier’s age or more, though he certainly looked younger.

“A few years. We worked together on a contract, and he decided that I ‘wasn’t as insufferable as most other witchers.’” A smile turned up the corner of Coën’s mouth. “Though he didn’t say anything about being an omega until a few months ago.”

“I’ve known Geralt a decade, and he didn’t say anything until a few weeks ago.” Witchers and their secrets. It seemed Geralt wasn’t the only one of the Wolves bad at discussing what he wanted. Jaskier asked, “Was it as a way to convince you to come here this winter?” 

“Maybe.” Coën took a sip of his wine. “It can be hard to know Lambert’s motivations. But I made no secret I had some experience with omegas. Wolves aren’t the only ones who have omegas in their ranks, you know.”

“Do all the other schools have them?” Jaskier asked. Geralt had told Jaskier next to nothing about the other schools, and Jaskier sat up straighter as he realized he was facing a source who might actually answer questions.

“Some schools are more heavily one or the other, like the Wolves, but most of us have a mix.”

“So you had experience with omegas from your own school?”

“Not much. Or at least, not like this.” Coën grimaced, then took another gulp of wine. “Out on the Path, some witcher omegas keep a more regular heat schedule, though they’re still sworn to keep their presentation a secret. So they’re usually happy to run into a fellow witcher willing to accommodate them.”

“That’s the way the Griffins do it?” Jaskier asked. His fingers itched for pen and ink to take notes.

“No. No, not Griffins. For full witchers, the school elders assigned heat pairings, whether their heat would take place at the keep or elsewhere. There were always more betas than alphas or omegas, so it was considered an honor, as a beta, to be assigned at all.” Coën stared into the fire, and a corner of his mouth turned up. “Not a privilege afforded to a recently fledged Griffin.”

“Why would they need to arrange pairings?” Jaskier asked, frowning. “I’ve heard of arranged matings in noble families, but if witchers are sterile, why--”

“It wasn’t about pups. Part of it was being certain we could keep our presentations hidden from the rest of the world. But ritual and order is what holds--held the Griffin School together. And on the Path, assigning pairings helped prevent disappointment and an excess of attachment,” Coën said, in a rehearsed cadence as if reciting from a manual. “It helped us avoid entanglements that wouldn’t be beneficial to our work.”

“Right. The old ‘witchers don’t have feelings’ routine. Not one of my favorites.” Jaskier glanced at Eskel and Geralt, wondering briefly what expectations the Wolf School had held for their omegas before there were too few of them for it to matter. He drank deep from his tankard and turned back to Coën. “Did they assign partners for trainees, too?”

“No.” Coën looked away. “There were other rituals for that.” He was silent for a moment, then shook his head. “But once I was out on the Path, I learned other schools did things differently. Quite differently. Griffin rituals didn’t seem so important then.”

“For my money, you seem to be an excellent heat or rut partner.” Jaskier patted Coën’s knee. He’d certainly have been thrilled to have Coën in his bed for a rut, beta status be damned. “Certainly I’d have no hope of keeping up without your assistance.”

“You’re doing fine,” Coën said. “A knot is a significant advantage, even without witcher stamina.”

“Knots aren’t everything,” Jaskier said loftily. 

“They are to some people. If I have to hear Lambert complain one more time about--” Coën cut himself off, looking around the room. “Where is Lambert?”

Jaskier glanced around and saw only Geralt and Eskel, tangled up in each other. But the strong smell of omega, sharp with the tang of heat, reached Jaskier from outside the room. 

“Let me go see what he’s pouting about,” Coën said, setting aside his tankard.

“Nah, I’ll go.” Jaskier spent a moment gulping down the rest of the pleasantly warm wine, smacked his lips, and handed Coën the empty tankard. “I’m plenty rested now, I promise. It’s your turn for a nap, after all.”

“If you insist, I won’t argue.” Coën cast an envious glance at Geralt and Eskel. “But if he tries to bite you, I suggest you run.”

Jaskier pulled on some clothing before stepping out into the corridor, which was notably colder than the cheery hall, and followed the thick scent of heat around the corner into a corridor lit by a single lantern. “Lambert? What are you doing?”

“Fuck off,” Lambert snarled. He was bare chested, wearing only a pair of breeches that seemed hastily fastened, and he paced the length of the corridor with heavy steps. The scent of heat was almost as heavy out here as it was in the room. “And tell those fuckers in there I don’t need shit from them. They can do whatever they want and leave me out of it.”

“I could smell you from in there.” Jaskier gestured back towards the hall.

“Great,” Lambert sneered. “Fucking wonderful. If _you_ could smell me, everyone else must be gagging on it.”

“Come back inside.” Jaskier took a step closer. “If you want, I can--”

“I don’t need you. I didn’t ask you to come here.” Lambert charged up to Jaskier and shoved him, hard enough that Jaskier stumbled back against the wall and his breath left him in a rush. He looked up to see Lambert somehow looming over him despite being an inch shorter, and wearing a thunderous expression. Jaskier’s heart thudded in his chest, and his eyes widened.

“You’re afraid of me,” Lambert said, bearing his teeth. He sounded quite proud.

“Only because you could kill me accidentally with very little effort,” Jaskier pointed out. He had roughly the same reaction whenever Geralt shoved him up against walls, and that did generally end in kissing.

“And don’t forget it.” Lambert grabbed the front of Jaskier’s shirt and pulled him closer. “You may be an alpha, but I’m a fucking witcher.”

“Oh, I know.” There was no mistaking those blazing golden eyes, which seemed to glow with the inner fire of Lambert’s wrath. Gods, Jaskier was hard. He squirmed a bit in Lambert’s hold, though he certainly wasn’t making any attempt to get away.

Lambert sniffed, frowned, and then groped at the front of Jaskier’s breeches. “But you’re not any less turned on.” He squeezed Jaskier’s thickening cock. 

“Obviously,” Jaskier said, a little breathlessly.

“Huh.” Lambert regarded him with narrowed eyes. “You’re alright, bard. I suppose you’ll do. Come on, put that cock to use.”

When Lambert released him, Jaskier turned back to the door to the hall, but Lambert grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. 

“No. Right here.” Lambert ripped the laces of his breeches loose, shoved them down, and kicked them off, then turned and braced himself against the wall. “Make it fast.” 

“You don’t want a bed?” Jaskier gave the cold stone wall a dubious look.

Instead of answering, Lambert reached back to grab the front of Jaskier’s shirt, and dragged him closer. “Hurry up.”

Jaskier hurriedly freed his cock, lest Lambert decide to take charge of that too. He settled a hand on Lambert’s hip and rubbed the head of his cock against Lambert's hole, soft and wet and leaking a mixture of others’ seed and his own slick. Lambert slumped forward, going pliant at the promise of getting what he wanted. 

Jaskier reached down and pressed three fingers inside to see if Lambert needed any stretching. Lambert whined quietly and pushed back against Jaskier’s fingers. He’d been mostly coherent a moment ago, but it seemed Jaskier’s touch had reduced him to the kind of wordless, desperate need Jaskier had felt himself from time to time at the height of his rut. If Lambert’s heat was cresting, it might not go on much longer. Then again, a normal human’s heat would have been over days ago.

Lambert pushed back against him and shuddered, shattering conscious thought. Jaskier leaned forward, bumping the head of his cock against Lambert’s hole beside his fingers. The rim stretched invitingly, trying to accommodate him. Jaskier tucked that thought away and removed his fingers so he could slide his cock into Lambert’s welcoming wetness.

Lambert let out a shaky breath. His fingers curled against the wall as Jaskier leaned into him, pushing until his knot teased at Lambert’s entrance. But, Jaskier reflected, this was no time for teasing. Lambert deserved the kind of pleasure he’d asked for.

Jaskier grabbed hold of Lambert’s hips and began to thrust. His skin slapped against Lambert’s, loud in the quiet corridor. He thrust as if he could push Lambert through the wall, fast and hard as he could manage.

Lambert was repeating something quietly as he pushed back against Jaskier’s thrusts. Jaskier leaned down to listen, and heard a growling chant of, “Fuck you, fuck you.”

Jaskier slowed down, suddenly unsure.

“Don’t you stop,” Lambert snarled. “Don’t you dare fucking stop!”

Not daring to disobey, Jaskier picked up the pace again. Pheromones rolled off Lambert’s skin, spurring Jaskier on. His teeth ached to bite, to mark Lambert with the promise that he’d take care of him. Jaskier knew, in his mind, that Lambert would hate that idea, but Jaskier’s body understood only that there was an omega who wanted him, who needed him. He wanted to claim him, to let everyone know he had the right to give Lambert what he needed. 

Holding in a frustrated whine, Jaskier fucked Lambert with all of his strength. His knot pushed at Lambert’s entrance, opening him up even further. Jaskier reached forward to close his hand around Lambert’s cock. With a shout, Lambert jerked upright, forcing Jaskier’s knot into him even as he spilled against the wall.

Jaskier drew his head back, narrowly avoiding having his nose broken, but barely registered the danger he’d escaped. He pushed Lambert against the wall, spending copiously inside him as he buried his face in Lambert’s neck and managed to keep his teeth in his mouth.

Jaskier only had the strength to cling to Lambert and breathe, after that. His knees felt rather like jelly, and little jolts of pleasure still rattled down his nerves from the point where he was joined with Lambert.

After a moment, his eyes snapped open at the dull thud of a fist against stone. Lambert was shaking beneath him, cheek pressed into the wall and teeth clenched in a furious snarl. “Why does this have to feel so fucking good? I don’t want to fucking need this.” Lambert’s voice was barely audible, but still brittle with despair. “Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck this.”

Lambert sank slowly to his knees. Jaskier, dragged along by their point of connection, dropped to the floor with him, awkwardly tucking his legs under him to avoid putting pressure on their tie. 

“Fuck.” Lambert hung his head. “Fuck you for making this feel good.”

“I’m sorry.” Jaskier reached out a hand to touch Lambert’s shoulder, then thought better of it. “Do… Never mind.”

“Fucking what?” Lambert snapped.

“Do the trials, mutations, do they determine your presentation?” Jaskier asked.

“What, are you writing a book?” Lambert glared over his shoulder at Jaskier, but when Jaskier just looked placidly back at him, he continued, “No. Just something about omega genes made us more likely to survive the Grasses.”

“So you would have been an omega no matter what?”

“Yeah, I suppose.” Lambert’s glare intensified. “What’s your fucking point?”

“Nothing.” Jaskier wasn’t certain why Lambert seemed so hostile towards all things witcher-related, but it seemed a bit unfair to blame his presentation on his being a witcher. Though, Jaskier supposed, normal omegas didn’t endure a concentrated, multi-week heat each year. So perhaps Lambert’s anger was understandable. “Just thinking.”

“Think quieter.” Lambert leaned his forehead against the wall.

They sat there on the icy flagstones, until Jaskier’s legs started to go numb. “Lambert?” he ventured. “It’s quite cold out here.”

“It’s your knot,” Lambert grumbled. “Can’t you get rid of it?”

Jaskier looked down at the place they were tied together, at the bulk of his knot stretching Lambert’s body impressively. “Not really.”

“You know, pulling free would hurt me more than it would hurt you.”

“Please don’t,” Jaskier said emphatically.

“Here.” Lambert pushed backwards, shoving Jaskier into contact with the freezing stone and landing heavily on top of him. 

“Not better!” Jaskier wheezed.

“Some fucking patience.” With an impressively flexible movement of his leg over Jaskier’s head and a jarring twist of their joined parts, Lambert turned to sit astride him. 

“Gah,” Jaskier said cleverly. 

Then Lambert wrapped his arms around Jaskier and rolled onto his back, pulling Jaskier on top of him, mostly sparing him contact with the floor. Jaskier shifted to find a comfortable position and thanked his lucky stars that the maneuver hadn’t twisted off any important parts. Lambert was, of course, witcher hot as Geralt always was, and soon feeling came back into Jaskier’s extremities. When he’d stopped shivering, Jaskier remembered to say, “Thank you.”

“Geralt will whine if you get frostbite.” Lambert had his head turned away, as if trying to forget Jaskier was there. “I don’t want to listen to that.”

Jaskier, wanting to show his appreciation for Lambert’s saving him from freezing his balls off, managed to stay silent for at least a minute, but then another question came bubbling up. “What were you doing out here, anyway?”

“Nothing.” Lambert kept his face turned away, but glanced back twice to see if Jaskier was watching him before he sighed and said, “I couldn’t stand seeing any more of that fucking cuddling, all right? Coën feeding you bon-bons, Geralt and Eskel and their stupid silent language, like they can read each other’s minds. Everything’s so fucking easy for them.”

“Geralt and Eskel?” Jaskier asked. Easy was not a word he would have applied to either of them.

“That’s why I made Coën come with me.” Lambert scowled, furrowing his brow even more than usual. “If it’s just those two and me… “

“Oh.” Jaskier had perhaps faced a few moments of jealousy himself watching those two together. He imagined an entire winter of that, with no partner of his own, might be difficult to endure. “I see.”

“They’ve known each other for fucking ever,” Lambert muttered. “That’s just how it is.”

“Is there someone you…?” Jaskier trailed off, uncertain how to specify.

“I had a friend, kind of like that, while I was a trainee. Died in the Trial of the Medallion.” Lambert sounded entirely matter-of-fact, as if the memory didn’t pain him at all, which was somehow worse than if he’d had tears in his eyes. “So, no, there’s no one. And since then, all the other Wolves…” He shook his head. “There’s other witchers in the world than the three of us, though.”

“Hm.” Jaskier settled his arms across Lambert’s chest and propped his chin on them. “Any interesting ones?”

“Maybe.” Lambert muttered.

“Ooo, that definitely means yes.” Jaskier drummed his fingers against Lambert’s collarbone. “Who is it? Anyone I’ve met? What school? Is he an alpha? What’s he look like? Or she. Are there female witchers?”

“Ugh.” Lambert rolled his eyes. “Shut up, or I will find a way to gag you.”

“Fine.” Jaskier managed at least ten seconds of silence before he had to say, “You know, any alpha would be lucky to have you, if you wanted him.”

“Right,” Lambert huffed. “Just what every alpha wants. An omega who won’t shut up and doesn’t go all swoony at the first scent of alpha pheromones.”

“I’d think another witcher would be brave enough to handle an omega who isn’t a shrinking violet.”

“You trying to fucking matchmake?” Lambert narrowed his eyes at Jaskier, who attempted to look innocent.

“No. Just intrigued by witcher courting rituals.”

“Courting rituals, ha.” Lambert grinned suddenly, and tucked his hands under his head as if settling in for a while. “Have you heard about the time Geralt accidentally married a rock troll?”

“No!” Jaskier clapped his hands in anticipatory delight. “Please, I will do literally anything to hear this story.”


	7. Chapter 7

Geralt listened to Coën and Lambert arguing about the temperature of the bath water and tried to ignore the heavy scent of both their seed still lingering in the air. The sun hadn’t gone down yet, and Geralt wasn’t weak enough to need relief again this soon. He could stand to wait. 

From the position he’d selected in the far corner of the room, he had hoped his spiking heat wouldn’t be obvious to the others. With so many pheromones already saturating the air, he trusted that it would be difficult to pinpoint the source. And he didn’t need anyone to fuss over him. Geralt certainly wouldn’t risk exhausting Jaskier; he felt a twist of shame remembering that it had been Vesemir who’d had to come rescue the bard from their midst as if they were a bunch of rabid dogs. Coën, too, as a beta, only had so much stamina. Lambert had started his heat earlier, which meant he would be near the height of it. He needed the attention more. Eskel, Coën, and Jaskier had been taking turns fucking Lambert for a few hours now, and his temper seemed to have burned down from incandescent rage to smoldering irritation, which was a testament to everyone’s efforts at keeping him satisfied. 

Geralt didn’t need that kind of satisfaction. He’d gone without it before, and would again. Still, he’d been surprised at the pain that had settled its claws into his belly. He had plenty of experience enduring the pangs of a neglected heat, but he hadn’t felt it this keenly in several years, since their winters at Kaer Morhen had settled into a reliable pattern, and he was practically guaranteed to at least have his bare needs met during his heat. Maybe the scent of nearby alpha was stoking his heat higher than it normally would be at this point. 

Geralt had enough self-discipline not to show the agony he was in, but that simply left him curled in on himself, teeth gritted as his heat howled at him to get up and _do something._ Present, get mounted, let himself be knotted and claimed and bred. His hole was wet and dripping, and he was likely soaking through his breeches onto the linens below. The gnawing in his belly continued to worsen; in the wild, it would have been enough to incapacitate an omega so that they could be caught and taken by an alpha.

But Geralt was a witcher, and witchers were used to pain. He didn’t need to be knotted, or even fucked. He could hold out a little longer. Squeezing his eyes shut, he concentrated on breathing through the pangs.

“Geralt?” Jaskier settled onto his knees beside him. Geralt had been too wrapped up to even notice his approach. “What’s that noise?”

Geralt realized he was letting out a high-pitched whine, almost a whimper. He swallowed it down. There had to be some excuse he could give. But the painful prickling of his skin against the linens, the unbearable smell of Jaskier and his _rut_ so nearby, had stopped Geralt’s thought process entirely. 

“Nothing,” he croaked.

Jaskier laid his hand on Geralt’s waist, and the touch of his skin, blessedly cool and firm, made Geralt gasp.

“You’re burning up,” Jaskier said. “Geralt.” His hand slipped down to brush over Geralt’s cock where it’s still confined in cloth. At the first touch, Geralt made a high, shocked noise and curled up more lightly around the hurt. 

“Why didn’t you say something?” Jaskier laid a hand across Geralt’s forehead. Geralt tried not to lean into the touch.

“I’m fine,” Geralt rasped.

“You’re an idiot.” Jaskier slid his hand into Geralt’s braies, down between his ass cheeks, and pushed three fingers into him.

The sudden relief stole Geralt’s breath, and he couldn’t suppress the shudder that rolled through him.

Jaskier pressed his forehead against Gerat’s. “I want to take care of you. You know that.”

“Hmm.” Geralt managed not to push back against Jaskier’s hand, seeking more. “You need to rest.”

“I promise I don’t want another visit from Vesemir. Let me worry about my own stamina, and you worry about yours.” Jaskier moved his hand, fucking Geralt gently with his fingers, sapping more of the tension out of Geralt’s body with every stroke. “Let me take care of you.”

Geralt didn’t have it in him to ignore an offer like that. He nodded jerkily. 

“Thank you.” Jaskier pressed a kiss to Geralt’s cheek, then looked past him. “Come on, then.”

Eskel appeared by Jaskier’s side almost immediately, and Coën hovered behind him. Lambert threw himself down on the mattress next to Geralt and said, “Shit, you smell ripe. Why the fuck you let it get this bad?”

“Ignore him,” Jaskier said easily. “Here, turn over.” He guided Geralt onto his knees, and Geralt went willingly, distantly thankful someone was telling him how to proceed through the desperate haze of need that enveloped him. Jaskier stripped him of his soaked clothing, handling his limbs as if he were a newborn foal unsteady on his feet. When Geralt was free of his bothersome clothes, Jaskier sat on the mattress, folding his legs, and guided Geralt to settle his face in Jaskier’s lap, where he could breathe his fill of Jaskier’s rich alpha scent. Geralt allowed it all to happen as he gritted his teeth against the gnawing ache of his heat, trusting that Jaskier would do as he said, and do something to assist. 

“Eskel,” Jaskier said quietly.

A familiar thick cock nudged at Geralt’s entrance, then pushed in as deep as it could go in one swift stroke. Being filled felt like drinking a healing elixir. The sharp pain in his gut, which had faded at the scent of an alpha, became barely noticeable as Eskel began to fuck him with short, vigorous strokes. Each thrust pushed Geralt into Jaskier’s lap, and he wrapped his arms around Jaskier’s waist to steady himself. 

“You like taking Eskel’s cock?” Jaskier brushed a thumb across Geralt’s forehead. “Is he giving you what you need?”

Geralt nodded absently. His hard cock was weeping against his belly, and it no longer hurt. In fact, everything felt wonderful.

“Coën, would you?”

A warm hand curled around Geralt’s cock, and another tugged gently at his nipple. Geralt whined and pushed back towards Eskel. He wasn’t going to last long.

“Do you want Eskel to breed you, omega?” Jaskier asked. “You want his seed?”

Geralt let out a grunt, a gut-punch of a sound. His whole body tensed, squeezing around Eskel’s cock and clutching at Jaskier’s waist. His hips bucked forward as he climaxed, spurting onto the linens beneath him.

Eskel grabbed Geralt’s hips and thrust harder until he came inside Geralt with a groan, filling him with hot seed. Not _breeding_ him, not really, because of course witchers were too damaged to be capable of anything so normal, but it felt good all the same to imagine he could please someone in that way.

“Good.” Jaskier petted a hand down Geralt’s tangled hair. “That’s a good start.”

Eskel pulled out, leaving Geralt’s hole open and empty, and Geralt’s heat began at once to rise again, unappeased in the absence of a knot.

“Coën, you’re up,” Jaskier said.

Coën took Eskel’s place, sliding into the welcoming wetness of Geralt’s ass. Geralt sighed, relaxing into Jaskier’s lap again as his body went pliant with the feeling of fullness.

“Lambert, go ahead.”

Lambert dropped onto the mattress beside Geralt and shoved at his hips to get him to lift up further. Then he squirmed his way under Geralt to wrap his lips around Geralt’s cock. It should have been too soon, too sensitive, but Geralt found himself thrusting into the warmth of Lambert’s mouth. He was still mostly hard--he’d been so much in need for so long that one climax had hardly done more than take the edge off.

“See. We’ll take care of you.” Jaskier dropped a kiss on the top of Geralt’s head, and Geralt pressed his face into Jaskier’s thigh as his cheeks heated. He felt vaguely, somewhere through a haze of delicious sensation, that he didn’t deserve to be taken care of, but it was difficult to pay attention to such a feeling with a long cock spearing him open and a mouth swallowing him down.

“Coën, slow down a moment. Lambert, do you think you can make him come?”

Lambert made a deeply offended noise around Geralt’s cock, then began sucking relentlessly, pushing down to the base and up again. Geralt moaned helplessly as the pleasure rose up in him, surprising him with its speed. He found himself thrusting into Lambert’s willing mouth, fucking himself back on Coën’s cock in the process. He could smell his alpha’s arousal spurring him on. When Lambert drew back to tongue at the head of Geralt’s cock, another short, sharp climax washed over him, and he spilled down Lambert’s throat.

“Excellent. You’re doing so well.” Jaskier stroked a hand over Geralt’s sweat-damp shoulders as Lambert licked Geralt’s cock clean and Coën made small movements with his hips, gently keeping Geralt filled. “But you’re not done yet, are you?”

Geralt managed to shake his head, but he didn’t dare look at Jaskier. He shouldn’t want more, shouldn’t _need_ more. He’d already been given so much. Luckily, Jaskier didn’t seem to be waiting for his response. He was already directing the others. 

“You ready to go again, Eskel?” Jaskier asked. “Good. Thanks, Lambert. I’ll make it up to you.”

“Damn right,” Lambert muttered as he walked away in the direction of the food. 

“Coën?” Jaskier patted the mattress next to him. “Why don’t you lie down here?”

Coën pulled out, leaving Geralt empty again. Geralt tried not to whine. Being filled up had felt wonderful, more than he deserved after already having come twice in a row, but this--what was Jaskier planning? What if they left him here alone?

“Hey, shh.” Jaskier put a finger under Geralt’s chin and tipped his head up to look him in the eye. “I’ll make sure you get all you want.” He leaned forward to press a kiss to Geralt’s lips that tasted gloriously of alpha. Then he glanced over to where Coën lay on his back, lazily stroking his cock, and back to Geralt. “Will you go get on Coën for me?”

Geralt nodded. It took a few tries for him to coordinate his limbs, but at last he managed to crawl over to Coën. With a supporting hand or two, Geralt swung a knee over Coën’s waist and sank down onto Coën’s cock, tipping his head back in pleasure as he did so.

“Oh, you look so beautiful like this, truly, Geralt.” Jaskier was kneeling beside them. He settled a hand on the back of Geralt’s neck. 

For a moment Geralt let himself imagine he bore a claiming bite on his neck, that Jaskier’s hand on his neck was reasserting his claim, but no, Jaskier was only guiding him forward. 

“Lean down, just there. Perfect. You’re right where I want you.” Jaskier turned to look past Geralt. “Ready?”

Slick fingers prodded at Geralt’s entrance where he was stretched around Coën. Geralt turned his head to see Eskel kneeling there between Coën’s legs, a frown of concentration on his face as he teased at Geralt’s hole. With a groan, Geralt dropped forward against Coën’s chest to give Eskel better access. He wanted more, gods help him. 

“Does that feel good?” Jaskier’s fingers threaded through his hair. “You can have as much as you want.”

Geralt buried his face against Coën’s neck. How could he explain that he could never have as much as he wanted, _had_ never had as much as he wanted? What Jaskier was offering was impossible. Geralt didn’t want Jaskier to know how wanton and weak he really was. He could still smell the arousal of his alpha, but further away now, more uncertain. He curled into Coën, telling himself he could be content with whatever the others would give him, and not fatigue them with unnecessary demands.

Coën trailed his fingers down Geralt’s spine, and asked, “Do you want Eskel in you as well? You can have him.”

Geralt nodded, a short, jerky motion. If more was on offer, it wouldn’t be shameful to accept it. He wasn’t begging for more than his pack was willing to give. He was only allowing them to do as they wished.

Eskel’s fingers pressed against the rim of Geralt’s hole, then eased inside. “You’re certainly plenty wet, Wolf.” His fingers rubbed alongside Coën’s cock, stretching Geralt wider, giving him more. Coën wrapped a warm hand around Geralt’s soft cock, rubbing it gently as anyone could want, and it began to harden again.

“Do you know how delicious you smell?” Jaskier’s hand was still in Geralt’s hair, stroking rhythmically, a soft counterpoint to the steady cadence of fingers delving into his body. “You’re a joy to behold.”

Eskel’s fingers worked him open with a delicious stretch as Coën moved his hips in slow, shallow trusts. It was easy to relax, pressed between warm bodies and with the pleased scent of an alpha in his nose. His body softened, opening to more of Eskel’s hand, and soon Eskel gave a satisfied grunt. He pulled his hand free and repositioned himself on his knees as close to his target as he could get.

“Oh, you’re going to like this.” Jaskier sounded delighted, which sent an anticipatory shiver of pleasure coursing through Geralt. So far he’d been quite right in guessing what Geralt would like.

Geralt breathed out. Worry had gone from his mind, as had shame, and he only needed to do as they told him and let them have him. He kept himself relaxed as Coën held his hips in place and Eskel pushed into him, stretching him with his wide cock alongside Coën’s, spearing him open wide.

“Good. Oh, you’re doing so well.” Jaskier’s voice reached him even in a place with no other thoughts. “Let Eskel give you what you need. That’s right.”

Geralt found his breath coming in quick gasps, as if he’d been fighting for his life, by the time Eskel had pushed all the way in. HIs body still felt pliant and relaxed, his cock still mostly hard, but the sheer pleasure from the stretch of having two cocks inside him produced a kind of animal panic that had snuck up on him, driving him upwards out of the easy torpor he’d found.

“Is that enough?” Jaskier’s face was close to Geralt, close enough Geralt could feel the heat from his breath. He sounded calm, unworried by what was happening. “You’re taking so much, so well.”

Geralt’s chest lightened with the praise. He breathed in the scent of alpha, shot through with bright notes of lust. He smelled more omega as well, also heavy with pleasure, and beyond that, the much fainter scent of a beta, the pure physical scent of arousal. 

“Geralt?” Jaskier’s voice was gentle. “What would you like?”

Geralt’s breaths steadied, and he settled into himself again, feeling all of the pleasure his pack had gifted him. He asked, very quietly, “More?” 

“Anything you want,” Jaskier said. 

Behind Geralt, Eskel began to move, rocking into him and sliding against where Coën was buried inside him. Geralt gulped in breath as the two of them set up a rhythm, neither of them moving very far, but more than enough to make Geralt writhe in pleasure, incoherent with the relief of having enough, feeling stuffed as full as he could be. There was a hand on his cock, a hand on his hair, fingers rubbing at his nipples, so much sensation that added fuel to his heat until he felt he might be burning, but couldn’t bring himself to care. 

Coën gave a strangled cry and clutched at Geralt as he came, spilling copiously inside him. Eskel leaned forward over Geralt’s back and set his teeth against Geralt’s neck, a glorious affirmation. As he reached his end, he bit down, not enough to draw blood, just to give a pleasant thrill of sensation as Eskel added his issue to the overflowing load already inside. 

“Geralt, you’re doing so well.” Jaskier sounded positively delighted. “Look at you.”

Geralt hummed contentedly, still squirming on the softening cocks inside him. His own cock, now fully hard, was squeezed between his body and Coën’s, and he thrust his hips, looking for friction against skin thoroughly slicked by pre-come.

Eskel pulled out, taking with him a gush of seed and slick, and Coën’s cock slipped out as well.

“Oh, Wolf.” Eskel traced a finger around Geralt’s gaping hole. “Looks like you need a knot.”

 _Yes,_ , Geralt wanted to say. _Yes, please._ But after all they’d already given him, how could he possibly demand more? Geralt shoved back against Eskel’s hand and his cheeks burned. He could smell Jaskier right there, smell the alpha’s need, but he couldn’t ask.

“You can have my knot, if you like.” Jaskier’s hand trailed down Geralt’s side, over the curve of his ass, and around to nudge gently next to where Eskel’s fingers were rubbing the stretched rim of Geralt’s hole.

Warily, Geralt raised his head. Jaskier sat beside him, stroking his hard cock and staring at Geralt with lust-dark eyes. 

“It’s yours if you want it,” Jaskier said. 

Geralt looked for a moment longer. Jaskier was offering. He was hard, waiting. It wouldn’t be fair to leave him wanting after taking the others. It wouldn’t be begging just to say yes. Geralt scrambled off of Coën and threw himself onto Jaskier. Far from trying to stop him, Jaskier made sharp, urgent noises until Geralt climbed onto him and dropped himself down onto Jaskier’s cock. He took Jaskier easily, stretched open as he was. Jaskier reached forward with both hands, wrapping them around Geralt’s cock and working it in time with the rise and fall of Geralt’s body. 

Geralt leaned forward to breathe in the scent of alpha, and felt Jaskier’s knot pushing at his entrance. After being broken open by his packmate’s cocks, the knot felt easy to take, as if it belonged inside him, as if he were someone an alpha would want to claim. His climax burst through him as the knot filled him. His alpha squeezed the back of Geralt’s neck over the tender skin Eskel had bitten as he’d spilled his seed into Geralt, as if asserting his claim, too. 

A wave of pleasure crashed through Geralt, followed by aftershock upon aftershock as his body clenched around Jaskier’s knot. He let himself be washed away by the sensations, floating past the limits of his perception to a smooth, featureless landscape of pleasure that wrapped tight around him, holding him close.

At last Geralt found himself slumped against Jaskier’s chest, feeling Jaskier’s gentle hands carding through his hair. 

“You all right?” Jaskier asked

Geralt nodded. His mind felt like the flow of molasses, slow and soft. Nothing else was worth knowing aside from the feel of his alpha inside him. 

“Geralt.” Jaskier sighed and pressed a kiss against Geralt’s neck, carefully to the side of the barely-visible marks Eskel had left on him. “You’re so fucking gorgeous like this. Why did you say your heat wouldn’t be enjoyable?”

“Hmm.” This was enjoyable. No one could say this wasn’t enjoyable. But this kind of experience wasn’t typical of most of Geralt’s heats. His pleasure and calm began to seep away as he stole a look up at Jaskier, who looked back at him with fond amusement.

“I thought that’s what you might say.” Jaskier was smiling shallowly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. 

“It’s…” Geralt worked to dredge up words. After the thorough fucking Jaskier had gifted him with, he deserved a better response. “Not like this, usually. I…” He paused again as he waited for his thoughts to arrange themselves into language. 

Jaskier kept holding onto him, combing his fingers through Geralt’s hair and showing no sign of impatience. 

“We haven’t always dealt with our heats this way. Before the sacking, we were encouraged to take alpha heat partners from other schools. Just a transaction, relief for both of us.” Geralt felt his muscles tensing as he remembered, and he forced himself to breathe, to relax, so Jaskier wouldn’t feel the tension in him. “You know I’m… strange. Even for a witcher. I...” He fell silent, uncertain of how to describe what it was in him that frightened and disgusted even those who themselves frightened and disgusted humans.

“Survived the Trials twice, right?” Jaskier prompted.

“Yes.” That description made Geralt’s extra mutations sound like an accomplishment, when he’d really done nothing but endure. “Some alphas required especial deference in exchange for the favor of partnering me.” Even to find anyone who would agree to see Geralt through his heat had been a challenge. He couldn’t afford to be picky, or make demands of his own. He’d had to be content with whatever the alphas wanted for themselves. “In my early years, it was easier to agree. I needed what they offered.”

From the corner of his eyes, Geralt could see Jaskier staring at him with a deepening frown. Geralt held still, awaiting a demand for further explanations, a request for Geralt to lay out how unsatisfactory he’d been as a partner for those alphas. He saw Jaskier open his mouth, then close it again. 

Geralt went on before Jaskier could decide to inquire further. “But the last few years we’ve managed on our own. With alphas or without.” Geralt tucked his chin as the embarrassment crept back. As soon as he had an alpha here, he’d lost his carefully practised control, and given in to instinct. Here he was, a scarred brute of a mutant, just having nearly begged Jaskier to knot him. Not something he’d have done if his heat had allowed him to think clearly. He knew better than to ask for more than what an alpha freely offered.

“I would do this for you whenever you needed it,” Jaskier whispered into his hair. “You don’t have to hide this from me.”

“Maybe not. But not everyone I meet on the Path is you,” Geralt grumbled. But that sounded too much like complaining, so he cast about for something he could say to take the focus off his own miserable lot. “Besides, if I wasn’t here, Eskel and Lambert would murder each other.”

“Mm. You have me there.” Jaskier resumed petting his hair, and Geralt’s eyes drifted closed without his meaning to allow it.  
\--

Geralt had fallen asleep before Jaskier had even softened enough to ease his cock out. But when it did, and he’d gingerly pulled himself free of Geralt’s still-stretched body, Jaskier padded over to the wash basin to sponge himself off. He brought back a wet cloth to dab at some of the mess left on Geralt’s skin, though he noted this set of linens was certainly done for. He dutifully returned the cloth to the wash basin, spreading it out to dry. Then Jaskier stopped by his discarded clothes and dug out the bottle Vesemir had given him two days ago. 

Geralt, idiot that he was, would likely continue to deny himself if he thought Jaskier was being overtaxed. If Geralt had let himself get into a state like this once, it was likely he’d do it again, no matter how much Jaskier assured him he needn’t. Jaskier’s rut would start to wane soon, and when it did, he couldn’t expect to hide the change from witchers with their damn enhanced senses. Once Jaskier’s rut waned, Geralt would get even more stubborn about not allowing him to help. But if Jaskier’s rut didn’t wane, it would be much easier to get Geralt to accept what he needed. That made the decision quite simple.

A quick glance over his shoulder showed Jaskier that Geralt was deeply asleep, Eskel was adding wood to the fire, and Lambert and Coën were thoroughly engaged with each other. Jaskier pried the wax seal off the bottle, pulled out the stopper, and sniffed the elixir. It smelled a bit like alcohol, a bit minty. Even if it had smelled much worse, the benefits of drinking it would still be worth it. He felt fairly certain that Vesemir didn’t want to poison him. 

Jaskier put the bottle to his lips and drank it down to the last drop. He shoved the stopper back in and tucked the bottle under his pile of discarded clothes. Then he returned to Geralt’s side, curled himself around his back, and closed his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! There will be a slight pause here as we finish up the last few things to be done before posting the second half. Thanks again for your patience! You can hit the "subscribe" button if you'd like notifications when the rest is posted.


	8. Chapter 8

Jaskier jolted out of sleep with a shout. He clutched at his chest as he felt a burning in his blood that he’d never experienced before, not even at the height of rut. His heart slammed against his ribs, pulsing with a squeezing pain. His shirt and braies, soaked with sweat, clung to his skin. The smell of so many omegas, so much _heat_ , had him thrashing in the blankets, which had become unbearably confining.

Four pairs of yellow eyes blinked at him through the dim firelight. Preternaturally fast, Geralt arrived at his side and tore away the tangled blankets. “Jaskier?”

“Fuck, fuck,” Jaskier wheezed. Dragging in a breath, he felt as if he were underwater: unaccountably slow, with pressure squeezing him from all sides. But why was the water hot? He could feel his pulse pounding in his ears and his belly and his cock. Gods he was hard. He folded in on himself with a moan.

“Jaskier?” Geralt asked, hands hovering over him as if he dared not touch. “What’s wrong with him?”

Geralt turned to look at the three other witchers who had materialized beside the mattress.

“Geralt. Geralt!” Jaskier threw out a hand to clutch at Geralt’s arm. He couldn’t remember any other words. Where were his _words_? His body screamed its need at him, drowning out any other thought. “Geralt!”

“I’m here.” Geralt laid a warm hand on Jaskier’s neck.

Jaskier collapsed against Geralt’s chest, breathing in the warm smell of omega. That scent brought a tiny easing of the tension, and Jaskier groaned, curling up around the ache of his cock.

“What happened?” Eskel asked. He sounded far away.

“Smell him, idiot. It’s his rut,” Lambert snapped.

“I thought it was fading.” That was Coën.

“Obviously fucking not! Geralt, get on your knees.” Lambert dragged Geralt away from Jaskier by the arm and shoved him down on the mattress. Then he grabbed Jaskier by the front of his shirt and yanked him up. “Here, alpha. Take him.”

Jaskier stared down at Geralt, down on all fours with his ass upturned invitingly, and fell on him, tearing his own clothes away in his haste. Sinking into that wet hole was relief like the removal of a brand from flesh. Jaskier groaned and bent forward over his omega’s back, nosing at the scent glands of his neck. As he thrust into Geralt, he couldn’t help himself. Geralt was his, and he wanted everyone to know it. He fixed his teeth in Geralt’s shoulder, though he managed not to break the skin. He wasn’t quite so far out of control as that. 

The fire in Jaskier’s veins still blazed, but it seemed content to feed on the touch and taste of an omega rather than burn Jaskier from the inside. He clutched at Geralt as if he were a magic talisman that could hold off the scalding need, and fucked him urgently. A scream poured from Jaskier as he came, knotting his omega as firmly as he could. 

Jaskier breathed against his omega’s back, tongue laving at the scent glands as he continued to push his hips gently against Geralt’s ass. He couldn't move far, but the motion soothed him. The heat in his belly hadn’t subsided at all. 

Geralt panted beneath him. His scent saturated with Jaskier’s was a balm, but it wasn’t enough, and his rut flared high again. When Geralt tried to shift, Jaskier pushed him back down into the mattress, shushing and petting him until he relaxed. He couldn’t leave yet, when Jaskier still needed him.

When Jaskier’s knot began to soften, Jaskier looked around the room, a predator scouting its territory. Near the fire Lambert was laid out on his back, one knee lifted, and looking at Jaskier with a challenging expression.

“Come on, alpha,” Lambert called, and Jaskier pounced. He plowed into him hard, snuffling at Lambert’s neck as he did. He smelled so fucking ripe, positively saturated with heat. Jaskier had to pull out for a moment to stick his face between Lambert’s legs and taste him, heedless of the slick that coated his face by the time he returned to fucking Lambert. 

Jaskier pounded into him with abandon, and was met with equal enthusiasm. Lambert wrapped a leg around Jaskier’s back and urged him deeper with the press of a heel. If his omega wanted more, Jaskier would give it to him. He grabbed Lambert’s face in his hands and kissed him, shoving his tongue inside to taste Lambert there as well. He kissed with the same reckless abandon as he fucked, though he soon freed a hand from Lambert’s hair to tug at his cock. He wanted to drown his omega in pleasure, bathe him in it. Lambert writhed under him, pushing up into his grip.

Soon Jaskier’s knot was swelling again. It was too soon--Jaskier knew it was too soon--but the surprise was swept away in a flood of pleasure as Jaskier tied himself to Lambert and finished inside him. He bit down on Lambert’s lip as he came, though after a surprised grunt from Lambert he relented with an apologetic swipe of his tongue. Wrapping his arms tight around his omega, Jaskier breathed in the mingled smell of both their releases. 

Someone was talking somewhere else in the room, but Jaskier didn’t have the attention to spare for decoding words when he could kiss his way down Lambert’s neck and across his collarbone. 

Jaskier’s rut had its claws in him again before he’d even softened enough to pull out of Lambert. He tried to ignore it, nosing at Lambert’s scent glands to get more of that tantalizing omega scent, but all too soon his knot slid free. He whined in frustration and jerked his head up to look around. 

“Jaskier. Come on,” Eskel called. Jaskier’s head swiveled to locate him, limned in candlelight. Eskel was looking back at Jaskier from his knees, his incredible ass on full display, the smell of him intoxicating. Baiting him.

Jaskier staggered towards him, but stopped at the edge of the mattress. He wanted--ached with wanting, in fact--but some bit of knowledge gnawed at him. Jaskier struggled to make his mouth form words. “You don’t like… You don’t want….”

“It’s not the only thing I like.” The unscarred corner of Eskel’s mouth quirked up. “But I want to take your knot now.”

With a helpless whine, Jaskier fell on him, thrusting his hips blindly with animalistic desperation until his cock slid home. Eskel’s solid form felt just right wrapped in Jaskier’s arms. He made such lovely noises as Jaskier fucked him, and when Jaskier scraped his teeth over the back of Eskel’s neck, Eskel began pushing his ass back against Jaskier, spurring him on. Jaskier tried to get his hands on Eskel’s cock, but Eskel pushed Jaskier’s hands firmly away and stroked himself steadily in time with Jaskier’s thrusts. 

Holding his omega, smelling him, fucking him, Jaskier wanted it to go on forever. But at last Eskel groaned and jerked under Jaskier as the sharp scent of his seed cut through the miasma of heat and rut. Jaskier’s climax came soon after, and he slumped against Eskel’s broad back, gasping for air. 

Three in a row like this was not natural, Jaskier thought as his head spun. Not even in rut. That should probably worry him. He rubbed his face against Eskel’s neck and shoulders, marking him with his scent, and that nagging voice went away. 

When Jaskier’s knot had subsided and his softened cock slid out of Eskel, Jaskier threw himself onto his back on the mattress and stared up into the darkness beyond the glow of the firelight. His blood still simmered in his veins, and his cock was beginning to harden yet again. With a growl deep in his throat, Jaskier sat up and glanced around.

“Jaskier?” someone said, but Jaskier waved a hand impatiently. Language was too fine and delicate a thing for him to yet grasp.

“Here.” Coën knelt between Jaskier’s legs, pinned him by the hips and swallowed him down. Jaskier’s hips bucked up against Coën’s hands, seeking more even as Coën skillfully sucked him. He was extremely talented, watching Jaskier’s reactions carefully and adjusting to do more of what drew groans and sighs out of Jaskier. The friction felt wonderful, but Coën was too far away down there. Jaskier couldn’t kiss him, couldn’t mark Coën with his scent, show everyone Coën belonged to him. Jaskier could still smell omega, but the scent was faded, a mere tease. He groaned and clawed at the sheets.

“Ugh, fine, I’ll do it.” Lambert appeared beside Jaskier, pushed him down by the shoulders, and kissed him. 

With a pleased hum, Jaskier kissed him back. He curled a hand around Lambert’s neck to hold him in place while he kissed and basked in the scent of his omega in heat, recently claimed and sated. Jaskier kissed languidly, and slow, concentrating on texture and taste, then switched to quick, demanding kisses, enjoying the movements and pressure. His climax took him off guard, and he shouted into Lambert’s mouth as Coën swallowed his seed. 

Then they both pulled away, leaving Jaskier gasping. His heart galloped in his chest, and his cock felt a bit raw, but his blood still pounded through him, howling for more.

“Jaskier.” Eskel loomed over him, and this time he was frowning. “Can you talk?”

“M’fine,” he slurred. He tried waving a hand at Eskel, but it flopped down to his side. “It’s rut.”

“Yeah.” Eskel didn’t sound reassured. “How you feeling?”

Jaskier’s cock was, slowly but surely, thickening again. “Need more,” he said forlornly, as he dropped his head back down and threw an arm over his eyes. 

“Here. I’ll take you again,” Geralt came to sit on Jaskier’s other side and stroke a hand down his cheek. He was hard again as well, and he smelled like his own scent mingled with Jaskier’s. Delicious.

“Go ahead,” Eskel sighed.

Geralt climbed astride Jaskier and let Jaskier paw him over and frot against him until he was fully hard again. Then Geralt, deliciously open and wet from Jaskier’s earlier efforts, sank down onto Jaskier’s cock. He moved only slowly, rocking forward against Jaskier at a languid pace. But the fire in Jaskier’s blood didn’t demand more. How could it, when this beautiful omega was riding him with such skill, smelling of deep heat and of Jaskier himself? Smelling like _his_.

Jaskier stared up into luminous amber eyes and lost himself in the rhythm of their coupling. It seemed to go on for hours, a song with infinite new verses to improvise. Eventually he became aware that his omega was looking back at him, too, regarding Jaskier as if he were something precious. That soft look suited him.

“You’re beautiful.” Those words seemed easy and obvious, no effort at all. “Do you want to come?”

When the omega nodded, Jaskier used his hand to touch, squeezing his cock, teasing his fingers across the head and playing with the skin. Geralt’s head tipped back, and soon he spilled over Jaskier’s hand. But Jaskier wanted more of those small, choked-off sounds, so he curled his seed-slick fingers around Geralt’s cock and waited patiently to play with him again. When Geralt had come a second time, he did so with such a wild, unguarded sound that Jaskier followed soon after, filling Geralt with his seed and his knot.

Geralt settled himself on top of Jaskier like a warm, well-muscled blanket. Jaskier closed his eyes and breathed in the calming scent of a sated omega. He must have dozed off at some point, because he came awake to the sound of whispered voices. 

“Humans are not supposed to do that. He’ll hurt himself.” That sounded like Eskel.

“What do you suggest, strapping him down and letting him suffer through it?” Geralt growled. Jaskier could feel the vibrations of his words against his chest.

“Melitele’s hairy bush--” Lambert, definitely Lambert. “--if we have to report another cock injury to Vesemir this year--”

“We’ll make sure he gets what he needs without injuring himself,” Eskel said.

“Do I get a say?” Jaskier asked, prying open his eyes. The path to his well of words seemed clear again.

“Jaskier.” Geralt’s voice was thick with relief. 

“You talking again, bardling?” Eskel asked.

“No longer entirely feral,” Jaskier rasped.

“Good. We aren’t going to have to put you down like a dog, then,” Lambert said cheerfully. Coën smacked him. “What?!”

Geralt climbed off Jaskier, but was frowning down at him with concern. “Do you know what happened? 

“Yeah, what the fuck was that all about?” Lambert asked.

“An elixir,” Jaskier mumbled.

“An elixir?” Geralt grabbed Jaskier by the shoulders. “Jaskier, you can’t--”

“For humans. Not poisonous.” Jaskier stroked a hand down Geralt’s shoulders, like he would to soothe a ruffled cat. “Vesemir gave it to me.”

“Ha. Well then he certainly can’t blame us for the consequences,” Lambert said. 

“Oh can't he,” Eskel grumbled.

“It heightens your rut,” Geralt said slowly.

“More than I anticipated. Sorry to worry you.” Jaskier looked at Lambert. “Thanks for giving me something to pounce on.”

Lambert looked away and shrugged. “‘S nothing.”

“You’ve dealt with alphas in heat before?” Jaskier asked. Something in the way Lambert had spoken seemed too formal to have learned from his fellow wolves. 

“Once or twice.” Lambert hooked a thumb towards Geralt and Eskel. “Unlike these two, I have some social skills. I’ve made a few friends from other schools over the years.”

“You have social skills?” Eskel asked.

“You know other alpha witchers? Who?” Coën asked. 

“It’s not important,” Lambert said coolly. 

“Who is it?” Eskel demanded. “A Bear? A Cat? Someone I know?”

“I’m not telling you, so you can shut right the fuck up.”

“See, told you. Any’athem’d be lucky to have you,” Jaskier slurred. Then he grunted and curled in on himself as his rut spiked again. 

Geralt, bless his endurance, had no objections to riding Jaskier again immediately. 

Jaskier’s rut still drove him after that, but not with quite the same animal desperation. And Lambert and Geralt between them were perfectly happy to take Jaskier’s knot as many times as he liked. However, behavior that might be tolerated during a temporary, rut-related fugue state, might not be as well received when Jaskier was lucid again. So he clenched his teeth whenever he felt the urge to put a claiming bite on one of his witchers _the_ witchers--and contented himself with stealing a lick here or there to steal a taste of their pheromone-soaked skin. 

Jaskier even managed a short nap, and then another, once he discovered that curling up with an omega or two meant the scent of their contentment kept his rut appeased. Eskel in particular, being so broad, made an excellent pillow. Jaskier found himself within arm’s reach of one of the witchers at all times, which was all to the good, in his mind. 

So all in all, he decided to count the experiment with the elixir as a rousing success.


	9. Chapter 9

Jaskier thought several days might have passed before he found himself capable of parting from his pack--that is, from the witchers--for more than a few minutes without the need of his rut overtaking him. Just last night he’d helped Eskel carry several armfulls of linens down to the laundry, and then walked back on his own. Such small accomplishments marked his days, which otherwise blended together in a sea of damp, happy acts of lust.

He went to fetch their supper from the kitchen--rabbit stew again. Vesemir stood stirring the pot, and Jaskier gave him an elaborate bow. Vesemir looked him up and down, sniffed at him more subtly than most witchers, then gave a short, sharp nod before handing over the food. So Jaskier had passed muster in the sense of not fucking himself into exhaustion, and wouldn’t be getting the others into trouble again. Or at least, not right now.

By way of celebration, Jaskier took his bowl of stew over to the pile of blankets where Eskel had gone to read a book, and leaned against his broad back to soak in his warmth while he ate. Geralt ran a bit hotter than the others, but Eskel was more comfortable to snuggle up to, with more rounded edges. Jaskier may have dozed off when his bowl was empty--Eskel could stay quite still when he chose--because he woke to the sound of Lambert’s complaining, which for once had nothing to do with wanting a knot. 

“We’re out of ale,” Lambert announced, holding his tankard upside down by way of demonstration.

“There’s more in the cellar,” Eskel said, and flipped a page of his book.

“Coën, would you like a personal tour of the cellars of Kaer Morhen?” Lambert asked.

“Not particularly,” Coën called back from his cocoon of blankets.

“I’ll show you where Vesemir’s secret brandy stash is.”

“In that case, sure.” Coën wriggled out of his cocoon, dug his boots out of the pile by the door, and followed Lambert out into the corridor.

Jaskier watched them go with a half-formed thought coalescing into something like an idea. There was something he’d contemplated proposing but, not being entirely certain of Eskel’s interest, he hadn’t wanted to put him on the spot. Now, however, with Geralt asleep on the other side of the room, Eskel was as alone as Jaskier was likely to find him. 

Nudging Eskel’s book out of the way, Jaskier climbed into Eskel’s lap and made himself comfortable. He dragged Eskel’s arm around his waist and leaned back against Eskel’s chest. 

“Still tired? Not exhausting yourself, are you?” Eskel asked.

“For the last time, no. Don’t worry, I’m not going to get you in trouble with Vesemir again. Mother hen.”

“I only--”

Jaskier turned and pressed his lips to Eskel’s, silencing him. After enjoying a leisurely kiss, Jaskier drew back and appreciated the slightly shocked expression Eskel always wore when he received something he wanted. He pressed another soft kiss to Eskel’s scarred cheek for good measure, then turned to snuggle back against Eskel, taking note of the stiffening bulge in his breeches. 

“Are you asking because I’m hogging all the fun?” Jaskier asked.

“I’m glad you’re here. Truly. Won’t deny I’m proud of my skills, but there are certain things I can’t do.” Eskel hooked his chin over Jaskier’s shoulder and looked across the room to where Geralt was curled around a pillow with his mouth slightly open, dead to the world after Coën had fucked him quite thoroughly. “Geralt deserves a--a heat partner who can give him what he needs. Who can knot him.”

Jaskier twisted a bit of blanket between his hands, thinking. He turned his head and asked, “What if you could knot him?”

Eskel sighed and shook his head. “Toys aren't the same.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Jaskier said. He still wasn’t certain how Eskel would take his suggestion, but his own stiffening cock seemed in favor of it. “What if we did it together? If you were inside me, guiding me. Fucking my knot right into him.”

Eskel froze against Jaskier’s back, then he let out a short, sharp breath, as if he’d suffered a punch to the gut. 

“You could do everything just the way he likes it,” Jaskier continued. “You know what he needs. You could control everything. Steer me however you wish.”

“Jaskier.” Eskel’s voice sounded strangled. But he wasn’t objecting.

Jaskier pressed his ass back against Eskel’s erection, and was rewarded with a full-body shudder. “Would you like that?”

“I...”

Jaskier ground against Eskel lazily, resolved to wait. Eskel wasn’t Geralt, who sometimes needed to be goaded. Eskel would make a decision in keeping with his own view of things, and then stick to it like a burr. 

At last Eskel bowed his head over Jaskier’s neck and said, “Yes.”

A thrill ran through Jaskier at the _want_ in that word. He’d guessed correctly. “Well, we should get you inside me, first.”

Eskel knew Jaskier’s body well enough by now to prep him efficiently, slicking the way with fingers wet from his own dripping hole. Jaskier grew hard as Eskel worked his fingers inside, rubbing expertly. He was so damn competent at this, as with everything. Jaskier moaned, clamped a hand down over the head of his cock, and flailed a hand back to grasp Eskel’s wrist. “You can’t make me come yet!” 

“You’d be ready again soon enough.” 

Jaskier could hear the smile in Eskel’s voice, but he backed off. Jaskier took a few deep breaths before releasing his cock. 

“Come on, then.” Eskel looked smug. It was a good look on him.

Jaskier shifted to let Eskel cozy up behind him, his stiff cock nudging at Jaskier’s ass. A shudder went through him as his rut spiked, smelling an aroused omega so near.

Eskel’s grip on his shoulder loosened. “Jaskier?”

“Just swooning a bit, darling. I need…” Jaskier shoved back against Eskel, who obligingly took himself in hand and guided Jaskier onto his cock. 

Jaskier sighed as Eskel’s cock slid easily into him, snug as if it had been made to fit inside him. 

“There, that better?”

Jaskier nodded loosely. His head lolled back against Eskel’s shoulder, and he turned to press his nose against Eskel’s neck and breathe in his scent. Even mingled as it was with all the others after living in each other’s pockets, Jaskier could still easily recognize Eskel’s particular scent. He felt sure he’d be able to pick his witchers out of a crowd of a hundred omegas. He would remember their scents as long as he lived.

As if Eskel could read his mind, he said, “You smell divine.” He teased his fingers along the underside of Jaskier’s heavy prick, then traced one finger around the edge of the still-soft knot. 

“That’s for you,” Jaskier managed, looking down to watch Eskel touch him. “To use. It’s yours.”

Eskel rumbled deep in his throat. He pressed his mouth against the back of Jaskier’s neck--not quite a kiss, as if he were baring his teeth but didn’t dare bite. But oh, Jaskier wanted him to. It didn’t matter if alphas didn’t get claiming bites, let alone allow omegas to mark them; the thought of Eskel marking him sent a hum of desperate anticipation through his body.

Jaskier groaned, torn between pressing back against Eskel’s mouth, or forward into his hand when he was interrupted by a startled intake of breath from across the room.

Geralt knelt on a mattress, half-draped in a blanket, his eyes glittering in the firelight. His cock stood upright against his belly. His hands clenched into fists as he stared, then dropped open again.

“I think he likes what he sees,” Jaskier said, and closed a hand over Eskel’s to squeeze himself hard against the danger of climax at what he saw in Geralt’s eyes. 

“He right, Wolf?” Eskel asked softly.

Geralt nodded.

“Then why are you all the way over there?” Jaskier asked.

Geralt wobbled to his feet, and didn’t seem to notice when the blanket that was all his attire slid from his shoulders. His eyes stayed locked on them as he drifted across the room. When he arrived at the edge of the mattress, his gaze raked over them, roaming from Jaskier’s stiff cock, to Eskel’s face, to the place where they were joined as if it couldn’t decide where to land.

“Geralt.” Jaskier waited until Geralt looked at him. “Eskel has something for you.”

Eskel stroked his hand down Jaskier’s cock, settling at the base. Geralt’s eyes followed the motion. “You want my knot, Wolf?”

“Yes. I…. yes.” Geralt dropped to his knees. He curled a hand around Jaskier’s hip and looked up at Eskel. The scent of his heat flared up thickly in Jaskier’s nose, and he shuddered, dropping his head back against Eskel’s shoulder again. 

“Smell how much he wants you?” Jaskier asked Eskel. 

Eskel rumbled deep in his chest. “Lie down for us.” Eskel reached past Jaskier to give Geralt a gentle shove, and he dropped onto his back like a felled log. He stayed where he fell, legs splayed, arms at his sides, his cock wet at the tip with glistening pre-come.

“Such an inviting sight,” Jaskier sighed. He thought he should write an ode to such loveliness, but he couldn’t imagine a musical phrase exquisite enough to capture the beauty of the moment.

“Mm. Here.” Eskel leaned back a bit, wrapping an arm firmly around his waist. “Let me.” 

Jaskier shifted back against Eskel’s chest and reached up a hand to wrap around his neck, letting Eskel take most of his weight. When Eskel rose to his knees, Jaskier came with him, held firmly impaled on Eskel’s cock and cinched tight against his body. He could feel Eskel breathing, feel his witcher-slow heartbeat measuring out the minutes. His own rut kept his lust simmering, but with the strong pheromones rolling off of both witchers, he was in no particular hurry.

“Are you sure he’s ready for you?” Jaskier asked, looking down at Geralt, who had pulled his knees up to his chest, presenting a tempting target. “Wouldn’t want it to be too much for him.”

“Not too much,” Geralt said, sounding entirely breathless. 

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Eskel said. Holding tight to Jaskier’s waist with one hand, Eskel leaned forward and eased two fingers into Geralt’s ass. For all he’d been asleep moments ago, Jaskier could see the slick that coasted Eskel’s fingers when he drew them out. 

“Eager to take your knot,” Jaskier said quietly, and watched Geralt’s hips snap up, chasing Eskel’s hand. 

“Yes.” Geralt’s voice was barely audible. He was staring at them, eyes wide and dark with arousal.

“Show me you’re ready,” Eskel said. “Put yourself where I can take you.”

Geralt pulled his legs further back and apart, displaying his truly magnificent thighs to excellent effect and baring himself for the taking.

“What do you think, Jaskier?” Eskel sounded strained. “Should we give him what he wants?”

“How could we deny him, when he offers himself so prettily?” Jaskier held himself rigid in Eskel’s grip, the better to be moved where Eskel wanted him, savoring the clench of his body on Eskel’s cock. “Yes, let’s.”

Eskel braced a hand across Jaskier’s chest, holding him tight enough that they moved almost as one, and curled his hand to hold Jaskier’s cock steady. Then he eased his hips forward, just nudging the head of Jaskier’s cock against Geralt’s hole.

Geralt gave a short, almost soundless exhalation, and locked his eyes on Eskel. His legs trembled, though he couldn’t possibly be getting tired.

With maddening control, Eskel pressed Jaskier forward, teasing his prick against Geralt’s hole, smearing the slick leaking out of it. Gently, Eskel pressed forward, testing the give, but not enough to breach the entrance. 

Jaskier tightened his grip on Eskel’s neck and took deep, slow breaths, trying to maintain his control. Paired with Eskel’s cock filling him up, the feeling of Eskel using his body to tease Geralt had him nearly ready to go off. Beneath them, Geralt groaned and dropped his head back against the mattress. His bare skin gleamed with sweat, and his chest rose and fell almost as fast as a human’s. Geralt licked his lips and gasped out, “Please.”

“Ready?” Eskel murmured against Jaskier’s cheek.

Jaskier fixed his eyes on Geralt’s open, desperate expression, took another deep breath, and nodded.

Eskel shifted his weight forward, guiding Jaskier’s cock into Geralt even as he effortlessly held Jaskier against him. Watching his cock disappear into Geralt had become a familiar sight to Jaskier, but this was different. With Eskel guiding him, Jaskier became only an instrument, there to give and receive pleasure, but with no will of his own. He didn’t need to do anything aside from let himself be moved to create whatever melody his player liked. 

Eskel eased them into Geralt with a shallow thrust, then drew back, all the way out. In again, deeper, then out, dragging a groan out of Geralt that made Jaskier squirm in sympathy. Eskel rumbled in pleasure, the noise vibrating through Jaskier’s back. “Don’t worry, Wolf. We’ll take care of you.”

Eskel shoved Jaskier forward, following through this time to plow Jaskier’s cock all the way into Geralt. Jaskier choked off a strangled shout at the sudden overwhelming feeling of being fully sheathed in Geralt while Eskel filled him up from behind, balls pressed snugly against his ass. Geralt clenched around him and pushed back against them as if seeking more, his grip on his sweat-damp thighs slipping.

“Look at me,” Eskel whispered.

Geralt’s eyes snapped open, wide and dark as he stared at Eskel. Jaskier hardly dared to breathe lest he disturb whatever was passing between them. Then Geralt’s eyes drifted to Jaskier. Eskel rubbed his cheek against Jaskier’s and said, “Let’s give him what he needs.”

Eskel set a demanding pace, fucking Jaskier deep into Geralt, then pulling Jaskier back with Eskel still firmly inside him, leaving just the tip of Jaskier’s cock inside Geralt, then driving them forward again. With an expert eye, Eskel shifted Jaskier higher, changing the angle so that the next time they thrust into Geralt, he shouted and clutched at the linens. 

Eskel led the rhythm, guiding Jaskier into filling Geralt up over and over, steady as any metronome. The three of them moved together smoothly, with Eskel guiding them all like a master musician leading his fellows in song. Jaskier resonated like a perfectly tuned instrument, vibrating in sympathy with the complementary tones of his ensemble, clamping down with his own inner muscles when Geralt clenched around him, putting his weight into each thrust as Eskel steered him. 

Jaskier’s knot began to swell as he neared his peak. When Geralt felt the bulk of it pushing at his entrance, he let out a strangled shout and clamped down hard around Jaskier. His eyes fixed on Eskel, and his mouth moved as if trying to say something, though he couldn’t quite manage.

“Go on,” Eskel said.

Geralt’s untouched cock twitched as it spent across Geralt’s chest, spurt after spurt painting him up to the neck in seed, the very picture of debauchery.

Art by [jerry-of-rivia](https://jerry-of-rivia.tumblr.com/)

Jaskier pushed back against Eskel, not wanting to continue if Geralt was too sensitive. But Geralt reached up to clutch at Jaskier’s hip, gasping, “Don’t stop.” His eyes slid back to Eskel. “Your knot. I want it.”

Eskel made a low, soft noise Jaskier felt more than heard. Then he tightened his grip on Jaskier and put his weight into fucking him hard, pushing Jaskier into Geralt. Jaskier’s knot stretched Geralt’s hole, swelling even as Geralt tightened around him.

“Eskel,” Geralt gasped. 

“Jaskier,” Eskel rasped in his ear. “Give it to him.” He snapped his hips into Jaskier, unerringly hitting that spot which sent pleasure coursing through him, and shoved Jaskier that much further into Geralt. Every muscle clenched tight as Jaskier began to come, digging his fingers into Eskel’s neck as he was pinned between his solid bulk and Geralt’s tight body. His hips bucked as he pumped his seed into Geralt. Eskel kept fucking him in deep, slow strokes, bouying Jaskier on waves of pleasure as his climax stretched and stretched. 

“Eskel,” he cried at last, feeling he might fly apart if this continued. Eskel buried himself inside Jaskier once more, holding him close as he spilled inside him.

Feeling boneless and weak, Jaskier began to slump forward against Geralt. Eskel caught and held him for a moment while Geralt, with amazing dexterity for one who’d just been fucked so thoroughly, kicked a leg over the top and twisted, drawing a surprised yelp out of Jaskier. Then Eskel let Jaskier collapse forward onto Geralt’s back, and tipped them onto their sides before Jaskier got the life crushed out of him. They ended up in a neat row so they all ended up snugged together on sweat-damp sheets, their legs hopelessly tangled.

“You alright?” Eskel murmured. He still held Jaskier so tight that his softening cock hadn’t yet slipped out. 

Jaskier craned his neck around and tangled a hand in Eskel’s hair to pull him into a kiss. “You are bloody brilliant,” he whispered against Eskel’s cheek. Geralt made a plaintive noise, and Jaskier dropped out of the way so Geralt could claim a kiss of his own from Eskel. 

Something in Jaskier’s chest tightened as he watched them, a traitorous little corner of his heart that whispered he was intruding, he was superfluous, they wouldn’t want him here at all except for his knot. 

The two witchers finished their lingering kiss and pressed their foreheads together, breathing one another’s air. Then, as if at some unheard signal, they both turned their sharp amber eyes on him. Before Jaskier could think of anything witty and disarming to say, they had him wrapped up tight between them with Eskel’s arms flung around his waist, Geralt’s head tucked under Jaskier’s chin and holding Jaskier’s arms around his chest, and Eskel’s face pressed up against the back of Jaskier’s neck, mouthing at the scent glands there. 

They were still tangled together when Lambert and Coën returned, staggering under the weight of two casks each. 

Lambert dropped his burden next to the door, huffed in the direction of their untidy pile, and said to Coën, “You owe me twenty orens.”

“I didn’t take your sucker bet,” Coën said calmly, as he set down the casks he carried with a bit more care. “Anyone could have seen that coming.”

 _Anyone?_ Jaskier thought blearily, but didn’t have time to contemplate further before he was asleep.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter deals with discussion of Witcherverse-typical bad childhoods, specifically how heats were handled for witcher trainees. Spoiler warning: not nicely.

Jaskier found that in a few days, they’d fallen into a comfortable rhythm: coupling with whoever was awake, taking turns fetching food from the kitchens and emptying the bathwater, and sleeping piled up against each other when they were tired. Tonight--Jaskier thought it was night, at least--a calm had fallen over the hall, and Jaskier felt lazily content, full of warm stew and ale, and fucked out, but not enough to be sore or exhausted. 

Coën lay belly down on the mattress nearest the fire, idly thumbing through his deck of Gwent cards.

"I'm not playing against you again," Lambert said as he flopped down beside him. "I need to have some cards left come spring."

“Nothing in your deck anymore worth betting with,” Coën said with a shrug, and Jaskier had the pleasure of watching outrage bloom on Lambert’s face.

"Now, let’s not let Gwent tear us apart," Jaskier said cheerfully, just to watch Lambert’s face flush higher with indignation. “The brotherhood of witchers must stand inviolable.”

Coën snickered, and Lambert narrowed his eyes as Jaskier, suspicious. Jaskier gave him a placid smile, while feeling Geralt’s silent chuckle. Geralt, pleased and pliant from his latest knotting, was sitting cross-legged, letting Jaskier braid his hair. Eskel had his head settled in Geralt's lap, half-asleep. It was the first time since Jaskier arrived that one of them wasn’t busy trying to get off. He could still smell the simmering heat, but it was banked for the moment, and Jaskier’s rut seemed to have subsided to manageable levels. There was something pleasant about sitting all together with no urgent needs to disturb them.

Art by [jerry-of-rivia](https://jerry-of-rivia.tumblr.com/)

“Well, if not the cutthroat business of Gwent,” Coën said, “what do you suggest?”

Jaskier considered as he wove another section of braid. "You may know all each others' stories, but I don't. Come on, share some tales with a poor bard!”

"Toss a tale to your bardling," Coën sang, and Lambert savagely silenced him with a pillow.

"What kind of stories do you think we have?" Geralt asked, voice slurred and dreamy. "Thought you'd heard all the monster-killing stories you wanted."

"Don't give me that nonsense. There's more to witcher life than killing monsters. Oh, you should tell me the story of your first heat!" Jaskier nudged Geralt's shoulder with a finger that wasn't currently holding a strand of hair, and nodded down at Eskel. "Didn’t you spend it together?”

Eskel, not asleep after all, opened his eyes and frowned up at Jaskier. “Geralt told you about that?”

“No,” Geralt growled.

“I guessed,” Jaskier said, and poked him again. “Tell me!”

“No,” Geralt repeated, more emphatically. It was the kind of response that usually heralded an extremely interesting tale.

“Their first heat?” Lambert whistled. “Ha, that’s a story.”

“Shut up, Lambert," Eskel said, sitting up. 

"I've never heard this one," Coën put in.

“Was it awkward? Completely romantic? Embarrassing?” Jaskier asked. His eyes lit up as he considered the possibilities.“Ooo, is this blackmail material?” 

“It’s not important.” Geralt snapped. Eskel put a hand on Geralt's knee, as if to restrain him.

“No, you should tell him. It’s a very formative moment,” Lambert said. 

Jaskier caught sight of Eskel's face, at the tight look he directed at Geralt, and said slowly, “If you don’t want to tell me--”

“Trainees usually came into heat not long after the Changes," Lambert said. He was looking at Jaskier, and ignoring Eskel's growl. "The training masters varied how they used the first presentation to aid in young witchers’ development.”

“He doesn’t need to know this,” Eskel said.

“In their year group,” Lambert jerked his chin towards Eskel and Geralt, “the masters wanted to teach them strength and perseverance. Bound them to their beds and made them suffer out their heat alone, with no help, no stimulation. Your first heat, with your senses still tender from the Grasses, alone.”

“But…" Jaskier's hands froze in Geralt's hair, and his breath stopped in his throat, imagining such a thing. "But that’s….”

“Torture. Yeah, it really is!” Lambert said brightly. “The masters here were always a special kind of asshole. Imagine being restrained for your entire rut, with no one to touch you.”

An icy thread of horror curled in Jaskier’s belly, but it wasn’t his own younger self he imagined. His head was filled with the image of two witcher boys, one with white hair, one with dark, screaming and crying in the throes of their heat, suffocating in the overpowering scent of their and others’ need as their bodies demanded something they’d been prevented from supplying. Under his hands, Geralt had gone very still. “Geralt?”

“That was a long time ago,” Geralt said quietly. His eyes were fixed on Eskel, who frowned back at him, unblinking.

“What…" Jaskier swallowed, then looked across to Lambert. "In your year… what?”

“Kept us supplied with alphas, let us all get high off each other’s excitement." Lambert waved a hand dismissively. "It wasn't that bad. Those new senses went into overdrive, which feeds back into the heat. Gets so you can’t feel anything but need. One boy died of exhaustion.” He threw himself back against a pile of pillows and kicked his feet out in front of him. “And that’s why these two are repressed stick-in-the-muds, and heat hits me harder than normal, even for a witcher.”

“Melitele’s mercy,” Jaskier breathed.

“Didn’t need to tell him all that,” Eskel snapped. He’d turned his frown on Lambert, and Jaskier began to wonder if Eskel could cast Igni with his eyes alone.

“Yes, I did." Lambert raised his chin, unapologetic. "We’re always gonna be fucked up about heat. What we want, or don’t.” He looked at Jaskier. “Nothing to do with you. That’s how they made us. So don’t take it personal.”

Everyone was quiet for a moment. The fire crackled, Lambert took a swig of his ale, and Coën shifted positions on the mattress, looking away. Jaskier forced his shaking hands back into motion, lifting a strand of Geralt's hair up and weaving it through the others.

“I’m going to make you come as many times as you want." Jaskier dropped a kiss on Geralt's head, then turned a fierce look on Eskel. "You, too.” 

“Hmm.” Geralt tightened his grip on Eskel’s hand and tugged until Eskel shifted over to press against him.

“That’s big talk for a mere human,” Lambert said, reaching for his tankard.

Jaskier grinned as much at the joke as the fact that he could now read Lambert’s face well enough to know he was taking the piss. “Hey Eskel. I bet you we can make Geralt come more times in a row than Coën can get Lambert off.”

“Oh, you are going to _lose_ ,” Lambert crowed.

Coën leapt to his feet, scattering his Gwent cards. Lambert tossed his tankard aside. And Jaskier, with a will, set out to live up to his promise.  
\--

The days and nights slid into each other such that Jaskier only remembered bits and pieces when he tried to recall how he’d spent each day. He didn’t mind the dream-like haze of the prolonged rut: it reminded him of how his mind could wander while his fingers played the lute, and retain afterwards only the sweetest bits of music he’d played. 

Geralt sitting astride Jaskier, riding him leisurely as he stroked himself, his golden eyes intent on Jaskier’s face. 

Coën and Lambert roughhousing and twisting all the linens into disarray until they were thoroughly tangled, and could only rut against each other frantically.

Eskel caging Geralt with his limbs, kissing him and kissing him. 

Geralt on his knees, guiding Jaskier’s hand into his hair and tightening his grip on Jaskier’s ass, urging Jaskier to fuck his face. 

Eskel whispering with his head tucked up beside Lambert’s, something Jaskier didn’t hear, then nipping at his ear as Lambert writhed under him, spilling onto the sheets.

Geralt’s teeth scraping across Jaskier’s Adam's apple, the barest suggestion of a bite, at least in Jaskier’s overeager imagination, before claiming his mouth.

Lambert cursing incoherently as Eskel fucked him from behind and Coën noisily swallowed his cock.

Eskel bringing Jaskier to the edge with extremely talented hands as Jaskier rode him, then denying him release again and again, until Jaskier was sweating and trembling. Eskel let him climax at last, spilling and spilling until he felt wrung out and empty, and collapsed limp as a rag doll against Eskel’s broad chest. 

Lambert sitting back on his heels, watching Geralt ride Coën with eyes narrowed and ready to spring. He barely waited until Geralt had spilled before pushing him off and taking his place, telling Coën, “Don’t you dare come yet.”

Geralt gasping as he took Jaskier’s knot, the scent of his heat saturating the air, his deep satisfaction a balm for Jaskier’s rut and his heart. 

Eskel trying to pull away after coming inside Jaskier, only to tentatively submit to being pulled over Jaskier like a blanket, and held there until Jaskier awoke.  
\--

Geralt, Jaskier kept a close eye on. He tried saying, “You’re doing so well,” and, “You’re so good to me,” peppering little praises into the nonsense he babbled during sex until Geralt stopped flinching any time he heard them. Whenever Geralt displayed the least sign of distance or surliness, Jaskier would offer his services, or rope one of the others into offering theirs. He hadn’t realized how much Geralt had been denying himself until he tried to provide an unlimited supply. However, Jaskier was tenacious, and he found willing accomplices in Eskel and Coën. 

Eskel could be counted on to fuck Geralt at every opportunity, of course, but he felt a responsibility for Lambert as well, who sometimes needed someone to handle him more firmly than Coën was comfortable doing. Coën unerringly came to Jaskier’s rescue whenever Jaskier found himself flagging. Once, after Jaskier was still breathing hard when his knot began to wilt, Coën appeared out of nowhere and offered to take over. He fucked Geralt energetically until Geralt came for a fourth (fifth?) time and finally slumped onto the mattress to sleep. So between the three of them, Geralt and Lambert were taken care of, and Jaskier worried less about Geralt stoically suffering in silence.  
\--

Jaskier suffered several bouts of swearing and refusals from Lambert when he’d tried to snuggle up to him after his knot had gone soft and freed them from each other after coupling. Eventually, Jaskier hit upon the strategy of asking, while biting his lip and looking up from under his eyelashes, if he could hold Lambert for longer, since it eased his rut. Lambert usually agreed with a bit of grumbling and let Jaskier cuddle him close. More tension left his shoulders every moment he deigned to stay in Jaskier’s arms.  
\--

Jaskier lay back Coën’s lap, taking the occasional bit of bread or cheese from Coën’s hand and enjoying the sight of Eskel fucking Geralt. The two of them knew each other’s desires so well that watching them sometimes seemed like watching a choreographed court dance, each participant so familiar with the steps that there was no telling who led or followed. 

Lambert appeared at Jaskier’s side, said, “Hey, you gonna lay around getting fanned and eating grapes all night, or are you going to fuck me?”

Jaskier waved a hand magnanimously, and Coën set aside the food to help stroke Jaskier to hardness. Lambert crawled into Jaskier’s lap and rode him, bracing his hands on Jaskier’s thighs and leaning back to get the angle he wanted. He took a more leisurely pace than usual, and Jaskier had an excellent view of Lambert taking his pleasure on Jaskier’s cock. Coën whispered commentary in Jaskier’s ear that Lambert could certainly hear, and he stroked his hands over Jaskier’s skin until Lambert climaxed, shooting his seed against Jaskier’s chest and dragging Jaskier over the precipice as well.  
\--

Jaskier awoke out of a light doze to see Eskel sitting by him, eyes closed as if deep in thought. His eyes opened as soon as Jaskier sat up, and he looked Jaskier over suspiciously. “How are you feeling?”

Jaskier’s first instinct was to prevaricate, but he remembered Eskel shrinking under Vesemir’s rebuke, which seemed like it had been months ago, and decided an honest account of his abilities might be in order. “Rut’s not driving me as hard as it was. Not up to much more strenuous use today.”

“Then keep resting,” Eskel said.

Jaskier sighed and flopped onto his belly, looking out at the room. “I can’t sleep anymore. And I certainly can’t sleep with that going on.” He jerked his chin towards the mattress a few feet away where Coën was on all fours, fucking Geralt energentically.

“I understand.” Eskel watched them with a heavy gaze. His stiff cock was noticeable beneath the straining fabric of his breeches. The smell of his heat wasn’t quite as strong as Geralt’s or Lambert’s, currently, but it was unmistakable. 

“I don’t need a nursemaid. You should join in.” Jaskier grinned as Eskel shot him a wary look. “Coën wouldn’t object, I’m certain. And Geralt’s mouth would look lovely wrapped around your prick, wouldn’t it?”

“I agree,” Coën said. He paused, breathing hard, and stroked a hand down Geralt’s bare back. “Geralt?”

“Umph,” Geralt said. He lifted his head up far enough to look their way and make a clutching motion.

“Go on,” Jaskier said.

Eskel didn’t need a second invitation. In short order, he had his breeches off and was kneeling before Geralt, guiding him with a hand in his hair. Jaskier got to enjoy the very pleasant sight of Geralt sucking Eskel’s cock as Coën fucked him. In the ruddy firelight, with his skin shining with sweat, his eyes closed in extacy, Geralt looked like the pampered omega pet of some king. 

Jaskier’s cock grew half hard watching them, but he wasn’t ready for another round quite yet. After he watched Eskel come on Geralt’s face and then lick it off, he fell asleep again with a smile on his face. It seemed he could rest with the assurance that his witchers were taking good care of each other.  
\--

Jaskier had meant to pour himself some ale, but had gotten distracted by the sounds Lambert was making as Eskel fucked him from behind, and had ended up standing by the table with his hand on the cask, eyes glazing as he watched them.

“You look at them like you love them.”

Jaskier startled to see Coën beside him, leaning back against the table and watching the two Wolves as well. “I knew you were Geralt’s,” he said, “but you care for them, too.”

“I…” Jaskier gaped a moment. He wanted to say, _Who wouldn’t?_ or maybe _How could you not?_ but in Coën’s eyes he caught a glimpse of the same spark of longing that Coën must have seen in his. So he mustered a wheeze of a laugh and said, “I am a bard. Incurable romantics, all of us.”

“Mmm.” Coën dragged his eyes away from Eskel and Lambert and began searching on the table for a clean tankard. “There’s a lot of that going around.”

Jaskier spotted one and handed it over. “Was there anyone who you--one of the Griffins, I mean?”

Coën’s face went blank and still, and Jaskier immediately cursed himself for a fool. 

“Forget I asked. I didn’t mean--”

“Connections like that are discouraged,” Coën said quietly. His eyes flicked briefly back to Eskel and Lambert. “That’s true for all the schools, but obviously the Wolves have managed to find their own way.”

“Just because you never had the opportunity doesn’t mean--”

“Don’t be too kind to me, Jaskier.” Coën set his tankard back down with a thud and gripped the edge of the table. “I didn’t say there weren’t opportunities. It’s… When trainees are in heat or rut, there are rituals to slake their need with other trainees, whoever is available.”

“I see,” Jaskier said, although he didn’t really, _couldn’t_ really know what that had meant for Coën.

“I did what the masters of the Griffin school told me to do. I participated in the rituals. I allowed myself to be used, and used others as our rites demanded. We weren’t meant to know anything personal about each other. That way lay weakness. To try to differentiate, give someone what they wanted, what they liked--even to try to discover such a thing--was a perversion. I had to stop looking. Stop seeing.”

“But…” Jaskier looked at Coën, turning all he knew of the man over in his mind. “You’re amazingly observant. You always seem to know what we need.”

“Well.” Coën shook his head. His eyes were dark. “The Griffin masters would have heartily disapproved. But they’re all gone. Along with my brothers, most of whom never had a chance to learn better.”

Jaskier turned away to give Coën a moment of privacy, and took the opportunity to fill Coën’s tankard from the cask. When he turned back, Coën had straightened, and some of the deep despair had faded from his eyes. He took the tankard from Jaskier with a nod, and also accepted Jaskier leaning into his side.

“I’ve imagined so many times what it would have been like to know one of the other Griffins, and have them know me, the way the Wolves know each other.” Coën gulped down half his tankard, then stood staring into his ale.

Jaskier waited patiently to see if he would continue. He’d learned that giving Coën space usually yielded better results than the incessant needling that worked with Geralt.

At last, Coën heaved a sigh. “I’ll never be able to make up for what happened to my brothers, not now. But if I can, I’d like to be of use to them.” Coën’s eyes slid past the sleeping Geralt to where Eskel and Lambert were coupling, and Jaskier followed his gaze. 

As Jaskier watched, Eskel held Lambert down by the nape of his neck and snapped his hips forward at a brutal pace while Lambert spewed a curse-heavy litany of filth. 

“Mm.” Coën cocked his head. “Maybe I should be taking notes.”

“Lambert would bite my hand off if I tried that, I suspect,” Jaskier said. “Besides, you bring something Lambert wasn’t already getting here, or he wouldn’t have asked you.”

“I told you, he didn’t actually ask me,” Coën said with a sad smile.

“Pffft.” Jaskier waved a dismissive hand. “Yes he did. The only way he knows how. He didn’t ask anyone else. Just you.”

“Hm.” Coën’s grunts were just as opaque as Geralt’s. “Well, you should rest while he is.” Coën nodded towards the fearsome White Wolf himself, who was sprawled out on his side, mouth open, snoring delicately. “He’ll want you again as soon as he wakes up.”  
\--

Jaskier came back from the privy and stripped off his boots by the door. Even though he’d just finished knotting Lambert, he saw Geralt on his back near the fire with Lambert atop him, riding his cock enthusiastically. And on the other side of the room, Jaskier caught sight of Coën leaning back against Eskel’s chest, his hands gripping tight on Eskel’s thighs as Eskel’s broad hand slowly worked his cock. Coën’s eyes were half shut, and he was making small, pleased sounds as his hips chased up into the contact. Eskel lifted his head from where he’d been mouthing at Coën’s neck, and looked right at Jaskier. 

Jaskier almost turned away, feeling a flash of embarrassment to be caught looking, but then again, Eskel didn’t seem upset. The witchers all watched each other, watched him, and even seemed to enjoy being observed. Jaskier held Eskel’s gaze as he drifted forward. If they’d allow it, Jaskier would watch them every moment he wasn’t otherwise occupied. He’d hoard the memories of sights like these for when the witchers didn’t need him anymore.

Eskel turned his head slightly to whisper in Coën’s ear, too low for Jaskier to hear. Coën’s eyes opened, and he stared at Jaskier with his lips parted. Jaskier settled onto the edge of the mattress. Eskel’s hand slowed, giving Coën just the barest touch of friction as his fingers loosely circled him. 

“Don’t stop on my account,” Jaskier said, in what he thought was a remarkably even tone.

“Not planning on it,” Eskel rumbled. He tightened his hand around the head of Coën’s cock, and Coën hissed, dropping his head back against Eskel’s shoulder. “Here, take over.”

Eskel beckoned Jaskier closer, then grabbed Jaskier’s hand and settled it over Coën’s cock. Eskel’s hand closed over Jaskier’s briefly, showing him the pace, then retreated to leave the task to Jaskier. He grabbed Coën beneath the thigh and hoisted one of his legs over Eskel’s own. Then his fingers delved deeper, and Coën shuddered under Jaskier’s hand as Eskel’s fingers breached him. 

“That’s it.” Eskel nodded to Jaskier, who picked up the pace in time with the movement of Eskel’s arm, and in moments Coën was gasping. When he tensed with a shout, Jaskier ducked his head down to seal his mouth over the head of Coën’s cock and catch the seed that came in great, powerful spurts. No sooner had he sat up than Coën was kissing him, holding Jaskier’s face in his hands. He flopped back against Eskel and turned his head for a kiss from him, too, which Eskel indulged. 

“This is a waste,” Coën muttered, ducking his head under Eskel’s chin. “I’m not the one in heat.”

“Not a waste to me,” Eskel said, pressing a kiss into Coën’s hair. “Jaskier?”

Jaskier shook his head, wondering if any of the witchers would ever learn to listen to their own advice. “Definitely worth doing.”  
\--

Geralt snugged himself up against Jaskier’s back, waking him out of a shallow sleep.

“Hmm?” Jaskier hummed.

Geralt shoved his nose against Jaskier’s neck and breathed in, scenting him. Jaskier wondered what it was he wanted that he wouldn’t just say, after this many days of being so bare and brazen together. 

“Whatever you want, I’ll give, you know,” Jaskier said. 

Geralt drew in a breath and tucked his face into the crook of Jaskier’s shoulder. The fires had burned down, which might mean it was night, or might simply mean they’d all been too occupied to tend them. In the near-dark of the room, perhaps it was easier to be bold. 

“Let me take you?” Geralt whispered, the barest breath of a suggestion.

“Love to,” Jaskier said immediately. Gerat had taken him plenty of times in their years together on the Path, so Jaskier was momentarily puzzled by Geralt’s hesitance. But then, of course. To ask Jaskier to fuck him, an alpha in rut fucking an omega in heat, was only the natural order of things. But to ask to fuck Jaskier, simply because he would like it, meant that Geralt wanted something for himself: not because of what he was or what Jaskier was, but because of who they were. Jaskier groaned at the thought, and his cock began quickly to harden. “Very, very keen, now that you mention it,” Jaskier said, and turned over to kiss Geralt. 

Eskel had fucked Jaskier not an hour ago, so he still felt loose and open enough to take Geralt right away. But Geralt insisted on turning Jaskier over, propping his hips up with a pillow, and preparing him with his tongue until Jaskier was clutching at the sheets and babbling demands to _get on with it._ When Geralt’s slicked member finally plunged into him, Jaskier sighed in relief. His body felt at once relaxed, and as tightly tuned as a lute string, waiting for more. 

“Jaskier?” Geralt’s voice was hoarse and thready. 

“Please,” Jaskier whispered back. 

Geralt fucked him with smooth, slow thrusts as his hands roamed Jaskier’s bare skin, as if cataloguing what belonged to him. Jaskier let Geralt lead, not demanding more, or spurring Geralt on: content to be here under Geralt for the rest of the winter, if that was what Geralt wanted. Jaskier’s hard cock rubbed against the linens, the friction too light to be more than a tease. 

But Geralt took care of that, too. He adjusted his grip on Jaskier and the angle of his leisurely thrusts until Jaskier gasped in response to the jolt of pleasure when Geralt hit him just right. Then Geralt alternated attention to that spot with deeper thrusts for his own pleasure. Jaskier could hear Geralt’s breathing become labored--not out of exhaustion, for certainly this kind of work couldn’t tire a witcher--but because he was near to his peak. 

Jaskier threw a hand back in a pleading gesture, and Geralt immediately stilled. Turning back over his shoulder, Jaskier met Geralt’s eyes and said, “On me?”

With a quick intake of breath, Geralt nodded. He pulled out, allowing Jaskier to turn on his back and take his own cock in hand. Geralt’s eyes didn’t leave Jaskier’s as he brought himself off with a few hard, efficient strokes. His seed spurted against Jaskier’s chest, his neck, his chin. The smell of it, of Geralt’s seed marking him, made Jaskier whimper, and his hand faltered on his cock. Geralt ducked his head to take Jaskier in his mouth, and in an instant Jaskier was coming, bucking up into Geralt’s throat as Geralt swallowed him down. 

Geralt sat up, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, but froze when he looked down at his handiwork, his issue painting Jaskier’s skin. Jaskier traced his fingers through it, trailing the mess through his chest hair, rubbing it in. He wanted to smell like Geralt, smell like Geralt’s, and no one here would look askance at an alpha letting himself be marked this way. Surely Geralt wouldn’t have done this if he minded Jaskier being marked as his, even if it was in this fleeting, ephemeral way. Even if Jaskier was letting himself believe, for a little while at least, that this meant more than it did.

With a growl, Geralt surged down to kiss Jaskier. It was a long time before they made any move to clean up.


	11. Chapter 11

They’d all been able to go longer between rounds in the past few days. Vesemir’s elixir had prolonged Jaskier’s rut beyond what he’d imagined, but by now slaking his need was pleasantly satisfying, not desperately urgent. Jaskier could take his time, enjoying a leisurely fuck and appreciating the feel, the view and the scent. However, space to think was not always a boon. 

Jaskier was fucking Geralt on his knees, running his hands across the scarred expanse of Geralt’s back when he noticed the dark outline of a healing bite on the back of Geralt’s neck. Someone--likely Eskel--had bitten him again, marked their claim on him. Geralt had allowed that, welcomed that. But he hadn’t asked Jaskier to mark him. He didn’t want to keep Jaskier. 

That shouldn’t have been a surprise. Jaskier knew all the reasons he wasn’t a desirable mate. Even though witchers didn’t care much for traditional values, they had values and traditions of their own. They understood each other in ways Jaskier never could. He didn’t doubt that he’d been of use to them, or that they enjoyed what he could provide. But clearly the Wolves kept no one but each other. Even Coën, as much as they’d embraced him, was here for the first time. 

Jaskier focused on Geralt’s warm scent, trying to block out the nagging thoughts so he could finish. With Geralt laid out under him, the task wasn’t too difficult. He hoped that Geralt would blame any increase of Jaskier’s heart rate on their exertions. As they lay tied together, Jaskier combed his fingers through Geralt’s hair and stared at his neck, not daring to touch. He lingered only until Geralt was dozing and his knot had softened enough for him to disentangle himself.

Then Jaskier stood, threw on a dressing gown and his boots, and walked past where Eskel and Coën were loudly fucking to slip out the door and into the hall. He hurried down several turnings until he felt sure he wouldn’t be heard. Then he dropped his head in his hands and felt a sob bubbling up.

This was all so stupid. Jaskier had come here knowing Geralt invited him because of his presentation, and his rut. Geralt hadn’t promised anything beyond sex, and Jaskier hadn’t asked. Eskel, Lambert, and even Coën seemed to genuinely appreciate his presence, but they’d expressed no interest beyond sex, either. He wiped away tears with the sleeve of his robe. He’d been building things up in his mind again with no basis in reality, a perennial problem of his. 

It has been pleasant to sleep curled up with several omegas, feeling more like part of a pack than he ever had in his life. When the witchers noticed that Jaskier was tired, one of them curled up with him to sleep, and when he was hungry, one of them brought him food, and when his rut was spiking, one of them was always there to let him slake his lust. It seemed as if they genuinely cared for him, valued him. 

But then again, Geralt took prodigiously good care of his swords. That didn’t mean he felt affection: just appreciation for a useful tool. Jaskier wasn’t a part of what the witchers had, only a visitor, a temporary amenity. 

“Jaskier.”

Jaskier turned around at the sound of his name to see Lambert holding the empty cauldron that they’d all scraped clean of porridge no more than an hour ago. Lambert raised his chin and sniffed, then took a step towards Jaskier. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” Jaskier said immediately, working to keep his voice from trembling. “I’m fine.”

“No you’re not,” Lambert snapped. “What’s your problem?” 

“It’s nothing, truly.” Jaskier scrubbed a hand over his eyes. “End of the rut makes me emotional sometimes. Nothing to fret over.” Jaskier tried to look fine, smell fine. His distress was all of his own making, after all, and Lambert, prickly though he might be, didn’t deserve any reproach for his behavior. 

Lambert looked at Jaskier for a long moment. Then he huffed out a breath and said, “You can bite him.”

“Excuse me?” Jaskier blinked at him.

“Geralt. Of Rivia. The White Wolf,” Lambert said, gesturing broadly back towards the hall. “You can bite him.”

“I…” Jaskier was not currently going to concern himself with wondering how Lambert had come to the conclusion that that was what Jaskier was contemplating. “I’m not his mate.”

“None of us have _mates._ ” Lambert spat the word out as if it tasted like drowner guts. “No one wants a witcher for a mate. We’re a pack. We have each other.”

“Yes.” Jaskier dredged up an imitation of a smile. “You’ve been pack for a long time.”

“Yeah. We fucking need each other. They make this,” Lambert waved a hand to encompass Kaer Morhen, the life of a witcher, or perhaps all of existence, “just about bearable. Wouldn’t give those pricks up for anything.”

“If you don’t take mates,” Jaskier said slowly, “then why do… I’ve seen you mark each other.”

“Mating bites don’t stick. Heal too fast on a witcher. But we still give them.” Lambert rubbed at the back of his neck, and looked down. “Feels good to be claimed, if only for a little while. Just because a bite doesn’t scar doesn’t mean we don’t feel it.”

“But I… I’m not…” Jaskier stumbled to a halt as the words twisted on his tongue. _We_ are a pack, Lambert had said. Not Jaskier. They belonged to each other, and not to some alpha stud they’d brought in for convenience’s sake. And if mating bites didn’t stick anyway, Lambert (or Eskel, or Geralt) might indulge him by letting him make a mark that would mean nothing, because they had a pack already and didn’t need him. Jaskier didn’t think he could bear that, seeing Geralt’s skin rejecting his claim as easily as Geralt would shrug him off in the spring. That would be far, far worse than never biting him at all. “I can’t,” he blurted.

Lambert’s expression darkened into a scowl. “Of course. Who’d want to bind himself to a bunch of witcher omega freaks? Just enjoying a few convenient holes to keep you busy during your rut,” Lambert sneered. “Well, fine. I didn’t ask you to come here anyway.”

“Lambert--”

Lambert threw up a rude gesture and set off for the kitchen without looking back.

Jaskier stared after him, gulping in breaths as his throat tightened. Had he been so obvious in his desire to claim that even Lambert recognized it? But then why would the idea of Jaskier not biting any of them prompt one of Lambert’s frequent displays of anger and feigned indifference? Jaskier felt momentarily like he’d lost his place in a song, struggling to find the rhythm again. But he thought--hoped--he might know what to do. He curled his hands into fists and stomped back towards the hall. 

Jaskier burst in, walked right past Coën and Eskel, still gasping in the aftermath of their climaxes, to where Geralt was sprawled on his back in a nest of blankets, and said, “Lambert said you’d let me bite you.”

Geralt sat up and looked up at him. His hair was still braided in the elaborate crown Jaskier had woven for him, though some strands had come loose, giving him a pleasantly debauched look. “Yes,” he said, blinking.

“Yes?” Jaskier couldn’t quite grasp what Geralt meant by that. “You just… But you let Eskel bite you.”

“Sometimes Eskel bites Lambert too,” Geralt said, as if that was unremarkable. “Sometimes I bite Lambert. On occasion, Lambert will bite me. It feels good.”

“But I didn’t… you didn’t… A mating bite!” Jaskier sputtered, then forced himself to take in a steadying breath. He felt a thousand times more naked than he had when he was balls deep in Geralt’s ass with all the other witchers looking on. “I want to be one of your pack.” 

Geralt frowned. “Jaskier, why do you think I invited you here?” 

“Because I’m an alpha in rut.”

“Not just any alpha in rut. You’re my…” Geralt licked his lips. “Well, our...”

“I am?” Jaskier asked, staring.

“Aren’t you?” Geralt’s face went still. “I apologize if I--”

“No, wait.” Jaskier held up a hand to forestall him. “So, you, Vesemir, Lambert and Eskel are a pack.”

“Yes,” Geralt said slowly.

“Am I…” Jaskier paused to find the word that meant what he wanted it to, and came up empty. “I’m…” he tried, and broke off again, miserably.

Geralt pushed gracefully to his feet and took a step towards Jaskier. “If you don’t want--”

“Stop! Stop.” Jaskier shook his head. “I have never wanted so badly to claim anyone with a mating bite as I have this winter. It’s been extremely difficult to keep my teeth out of all of you.”

“You haven’t,” Geralt pointed out.

Jaskier flinched, thinking of how close he’d come to claiming Geralt against his will when he had taken that elixir. “I was out of my senses. I wasn’t strong enough to keep myself in check.” Jaskier took a deep breath. “But that was far from the only time I wanted to.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt sounded almost regretful. “I can’t be your mate.”

“I know.” Jaskier did know. He’d known that when he’d seen Geralt with his fellow Wolves. He’d known when he’d accepted Geralt’s invitation. He’d known even before Geralt told him he was an omega.

“I’m bound to them.” Geralt looked past Jaskier to where Eskel and Coën sat, gone quiet and watchful.

“I _know._ ” Jaskier looked at the two of them, at their eyes glowing in the firelight, and back at Geralt. “That’s my point. After we… I came here because you asked me to. But it’s not just you I want. Is that not obvious by now? If...if there was room in your pack for me…”

“Jaskier.” Geralt stepped forward to take Jaskier by the shoulders. “You want a mate, don’t you? You want someone who can stay with you. Someone normal.”

“Whatever gave you that idea? I am not a normal alpha, Geralt!” When Geralt frowned, Jaskier charged on. “I realize your standards are somewhat skewed, but it’s true. No traditional omega would ever want me, and even if they did, they wouldn’t be what I want. I want this.”

“Maybe you do,” Geralt said softly. “Or maybe that’s your rut talking.”

“Geralt--”

“Ask again. After it’s all over.” Geralt squeezed Jaskier’s shoulder. “If you still want us… Ask again. I’ll say yes.”

Jaskier glanced towards Eskel, who was frowning deeply. Beside him, Coën had drawn back, looking between the three of them uncertainly.

Then Lambert stormed back in, slammed the door after himself, and stopped mid-stride when he saw Jaskier and Geralt facing off. He narrowed his eyes and looked at Coën. “What’s happening?”

“Jaskier said you told him he could bite Geralt,” Coën reported.

“Well, yeah. And not only Geralt. For that matter, you could bite us too, you know,” Lambert told Coën. “It’s not just Jaskier. What, you think he’s special because he’s an _alpha_?”

“I…” Coën stared at him, then shook his head. “Geralt said no.”

“Geralt did not say no,” Geralt gritted out. “I said we’d talk about it later.”

“Sounded like no,” Eskel put in. 

“Eskel bites you all the time,” Lambert said. “Fuck, I’ve bitten you.”

“That’s different.” Geralt glared at Lambert, then turned his attention back to Jaskier. “You know… You’re not…”

“A witcher?” Jaskier asked. “I’m a mere mortal who doesn’t know what I want? You think I don’t understand what I have here?” He whirled to face Lambert and pointed a finger in his face. “You are entirely worth the trouble of dodging all the obstacles you throw in the way of love. I’d bear all the insults in the world if you let me hold you after.” He turned to Eskel. “You. The fact that you don’t see how handsome and sexy and intelligent and brave and frankly adorable you are is a crime that I am willing to spend my life putting to rights.” His eyes slid to Coën, who still had his arms wrapped around his knees, pulling away from the others. “And you. Anyone who ever overlooked you was an idiot. You _see_ us. Do you know how rare a talent that is? You are precious to me and I’m not letting you go without a great deal of effort on your part.” With difficulty, Jaskier turned away from the others’ bright amber eyes and looked back at Geralt. “You’ve known for a long time that I’ve loved you. But how could I not love them, too? How could I not want them every bit as much?”

“Jaskier…” Geralt’s mouth hung open, looking between Jaskier and the others. At last, he shot Eskel a pleading glance. 

“Wolf.” Eskel rose and approached Geralt carefully, as if he might bolt. When he reached him, he laid a hand against the back of Geralt’s neck. “Why wait? We all want them with us. Both of them.”

Geralt looked to Lambert, who rolled his eyes. “Yes. Coën, too,” Lambert huffed. 

Coën looked at him, startled. 

“What?” Lambert snapped. “I’ve even bitten you already. That plan work for you, Griffin?”

Coën nodded, wide-eyed, and looked down at the hand Lambert had mauled at the beginning of the winter, long since healed.

Geralt turned back to Jaskier, staring as if trying to read his thoughts. “You’re certain?”

“Geralt.” Jaskier took Geralt’s face between his hands and kissed him. “Of course.” 

The look of disbelief eroded into cautious pleasure. Jaskier kissed him again for good measure, and got a bit sidetracked with that for a while. 

Then he realized the others were still watching them, and cleared his throat. “So how… Do I just bite you all, or….?”

“Oh no. Should do this right.” Eskel wore a suspiciously delighted grin. 

“Yes, absolutely,” Lambert said. “Gotta be official, or you’ll think we’re uncivilized.”

“That’s not--” Geralt tried.

“You see,” Eskel went on, turning his attention to Jaskier. “When we were twelve, Geralt invented a ceremony to declare the two of us packmates forever. Wrote it all down in the back of a volume on binding rituals.”

“Stop,” Geralt groaned.

“I got initiated one winter after the sacking,” Lambert said, “in a fit of drunken brothership, when Eskel found the book in the wreck of the library. And they haven't figured out how to take it back.” 

“When you say ceremony,” Coën began.

“Oh no, not something dignified and elaborate, like a Griffin thing,” Lambert said. “This is just as ridiculous as you’d expect from hopeless romantic Geralt Roger Eric du Haute-Bellegarde at twelve.”

Geralt growled and Eskel patted him on the back. In the end, Geralt was outvoted.

At Eskel’s insistence, they waited for the prescribed stroke of midnight to begin, all naked and sitting in a circle before the hearth, with lit candles spaced between them.

The ceremony involved some chanting in questionable Elder, a small cut on each of their palms, and increasingly ridiculous vows that Coën and Jaskier were both expected to repeat, while Lambert and Eskel grinned like children and Geralt stared at the ceiling with flushed cheeks. 

But it didn’t feel real until they were all naked and tangled together in an impromptu addendum to the ritual that definitely hadn’t been in the original. Jaskier sank his teeth into Geralt along with his knot, for the first time lucid enough to appreciate the scent flaring up when he broke the skin. Aside from during his elixir-fuelled haze, Jaskier had never even come close to making a claiming bite. He hadn’t realized how it would be, the immediate peace that covered him like a heavy blanket. It was impossible to imagine pulling away, even if he hadn’t been tied to Geralt. 

But of course, Geralt wasn’t the only one being claimed here. While waiting for his knot to subside, Jaskier watched Coën bite Lambert, and Eskel bite Coën in turn. Lambert demanded Jaskier’s attention as soon as he’d gotten hard again, and biting Lambert gave Jaskier the same euphoric feeling, the same instinctual contentment, as Lambert grabbed Jaskier’s neck and held on, pulling him closer. 

After that, Eskel opened Jaskier up with his fingers and fucked him slowly. He kissed the back of Jaskier’s neck, and waited until Jaskier gasped out, “Please,” before baring his teeth and marking Jaskier’s skin. Before long, Jaskier bore Lambert’s bite on his upper arm, administered as Lambert held him down and rode him, and Coën’s on his thigh, which he’d delivered just after a glorious blow job that had left Jaskier wrung out and limp. Geralt placed his mark on Jaskier’s neck, opposite Eskel’s: a matching set. 

Jaskier didn’t have the stamina to come as many times as the witchers, rut or no rut, but he was riding so high on the pleasure of claiming and being claimed that the pain of the bites registered more as a high descant of sensation traced through the rich melody of the senses that the witchers--his pack--were making together. 

Each of them was thoroughly marked and claimed by the time Jaskier dozed off. He kept his eyes open as long as he could, wanting to keep looking at the evidence of their mutual claiming. The witchers’ marks would fade by morning, even if Jaskier’s wouldn’t. But he would remember the scent of them, the taste and feel. He’d know the marks were there, beneath the skin. And the fact that the marks would disappear didn’t make his claim any less real.


	12. Chapter 12

As the days passed, their need waned. Even rut fuelled by magic elixirs and heat fuelled by witcher physiology couldn’t last indefinitely. During the day, they began to do things other than fuck. Eskel took over the goat chores from Vesemir, which, Eskel happily informed them, meant they might have some cheese to look forward to eventually. Jaskier made Eskel teach him the names of all of the goats, which first required getting Eskel to admit the goats _had_ names. 

Coën was a surprisingly good cook, and made liberal use of a box of spices he’d acquired on a trip to the coast to create dishes with portions tailored for each of their individual tolerances: bland as milk for Geralt, mild but flavorful for Eskel and Coën, intensely spicy for Jaskier, and a level of spice that made Lambert turn very red, but that he claimed was just right. 

Lambert brewed potions in the stillroom with ingredients contributed from the whole company, and experimented with a few new alchemical formulae. Vesemir declared them “interesting,” and told the others to copy down the recipes, which made Lambert unbearably smug for several days. He made up for it by spending an afternoon in the stillroom experimenting with formulations for an effective lubricant to use when the witchers’ heats came to an end.

Geralt sat in front of the fire mending clothing and armor the others presented for repair. His hands were incredibly fast, and Jaskier loved to watch him work. One afternoon Jaskier picked up a shirt of Lambert’s to admire the neat stitching, and Geralt grunted in protest past the spool in his mouth. 

At the hem of the shirt, near where the tear had been, Jaskier’s eye was caught by a simple arrangement of a dozen or so stitches picked out in grey thread. When Jaskier turned the design on its side, he saw that the shape resembled the head of a wolf.

“Geralt?” Jaskier examined two more garments in the folded pile of finished repairs and found the same pattern. When he looked up, Geralt was glaring down at the pair of breeches in his hand, stabbing into them with a needle. 

“It’s a luck wish,” he mumbled. “Just a stupid supersition.”

“Not stupid,” Jaskier said, running his fingers over the pattern.

Geralt made a few more stitches, then said, “My ma used to sew them into my clothes.”

Jaskier felt for a moment as if his heart might collapse from being squeezed so hard. He folded the shirt he was holding and set it back on the pile. “Will you do that for my things?” he asked.

Geralt’s hands slowed, and he glanced up at Jaskier. “It won’t match the fabric, the colors.”

“I want it anyway,” Jaskier said, and Geralt nodded.

Jaskier returned with every piece of clothing he’d brought for the winter and wasn’t currently wearing, stacked in a neat pile. Geralt didn’t object to the extra work.

For his part, Jaskier immersed himself in the handwritten journals the witchers had brought back from their travels, appreciating that not all of the Wolves over the years had been as stingy with the details as Geralt. Each day he took care to apply salve to his newly earned bite marks and change the dressings on them. The wounds had scabbed over, but as sensitive as his witchers were to the scent of blood, Jaskier didn’t wish to risk reopening them. 

All of them would come back to the hall whenever their heat bothered them, or when they got bored, to take a turn with Jaskier or with each other for the first day or two. 

Eskel moved back to his own room first, citing a desire to sleep in a bed that didn’t smell completely saturated with seed. Coën went next. Lambert stayed an extra night in the hall, though he was huffy and clearly wished to avoid any discussion of the situation. He slept in a pile with Geralt and Jaskier and demanded that they both fuck him in the morning.

Once the west hall had been put to rights and they’d each returned to their rooms, the witchers took up daily training. Jaskier spent a few days composing--love ballads were flowing from his pen these days--or exploring the keep. On a near-daily basis, one of the witchers would take a break from their training or chores to find Jaskier and bundle him off somewhere for a fuck, or take him right where they stood. 

Freed of the need for restraint, Jaskier took every opportunity to mark the witchers. Geralt would go still and pliant beneath him. Eskel bared his throat to Jaskier as he came, inviting Jaskier to reassert his claim. Coën clung to Jaskier as he was marked. And Lambert seemed to lose any objections to cuddling as soon as Jaskier’s teeth broke the skin. 

Jaskier knew they were gentler with him and his tender, human skin, which still hadn’t fully healed from their original claiming bites. But to feel Eskel’s teeth pressing against his shoulder or Geralt’s mouth clamping down around his arm, even without breaking the skin, set a thrill through Jaskier that invariably spurred him to climax sooner than he’d anticipated. 

After supper, their evenings were spent in the Dining Hall. Vesemir frequently stayed after the meal for the first few drinks. He must have seen the marks they’d all been leaving on each other, and smelled what they’d been up to, but he made no comment. Nor did he hunt Jaskier down while he was alone to demand he refrain from forming unnecessary attachments with his highly trained monster killers. Instead, whenever Vesemir caught Geralt looking at Eskel, or Lambert staring at Coën, or Eskel curling a hand around the back of Jaskier’s neck and squeezing, he looked almost… fond. Jaskier didn’t expect anything so overt as a blessing of his new pack membership, but he was happy to take the lack of objection as agreement. 

Vesemir rarely stayed past the second round of drinks, opting to retreat to his tower room and leave the youngsters to their drinking and carousing. Often, there were tales of the year’s contracts: fearsome monsters they’d fought, unlikely characters they’d encountered, and ridiculous scrapes they’d gotten themselves into. Occasionally Jaskier would tune up his lute and take requests or try out some new material he’d been working on. And several times a week, the night ended in a tangle of naked bodies as they built on the knowledge of each other they’d gained at the beginning of the winter to produce a truly startling number of climaxes. 

But on the first of those such nights, Jaskier made an alarming discovery about gaps in his witchers’ knowledge. He sat in Eskel’s lap, watching Geralt and Lambert in a shirtless wrestling match that had turned into rubbing off against each other while trading insults. He shifted as his cock began to harden, and felt Eskel chuckle.

“Feeling left out?” Eskel asked.

“Extremely,” Jaskier sighed.

Eskel called over Coën and held Jaskier still while Coën stripped off Jaskier’s breeches. Between the two of them, they got Jaskier situated with his legs splayed over Eskel’s so Coën could kneel between them. Coën pressed his face against Jaskier to breathe in his scent, and Jaskier felt Eskel nuzzle at the high collar of his doublet. Coën drew back and eyed Jaskier’s hardening cock hungrily as he ran his hands down Jaskier’s spread thighs. 

Then he froze, staring at the skin of Jaskier’s left thigh his fingers had just caressed. Jaskier knew exactly what Coën saw. He’d removed the bandages for good just this morning, entirely pleased with how the bites had healed into neat pink scars, raised enough that he could feel them through his clothes. They’d fade a bit further in time, but any danger of infection was surely past. 

“Jaskier,” Coën breathed, not moving.

“What?” Eskel peeked over Jaskier’s shoulder and followed Coën’s gaze. He made a small, high sound, then tugged aside the collar of Jaskier’s doublet aside to stare at his neck. Jaskier knew what the matched set of scars there looked like. He’d been admiring them in the mirror each morning. 

“Fuck, Jaskier.” Eskel did not sound as if he found them as pleasing as Jaskier had. 

Geralt appeared at Eskel’s side. He reached out to touch his fingertips to the crescent-shaped scar he’d left on Jaskier’s neck. “I didn’t realize…”

Looking at Eskel and Coën’s faces, Jaskier understood that their distress meant they hadn’t, either. 

“I did,” Jaskier said quickly. “I knew they would scar.” He reached down to put a finger under Coën’s chin and tip his face up. “That’s the point of a mating bite. To be marked.”

“But…” Coën looked from the bite to Jaskier’s face and back again, eyes wide. “I shouldn’t have--”

“I asked you to.” Jaskier shifted to sit sideways across Eskel’s lap, and Eskel’s hands came up reflexively to hold him steady. Jaskier directed a stern look at Geralt, then at Eskel. “All of you.”

“That’s why mine’s on his arm,” Lambert said smugly. He sat on the floor where Geralt had abandoned their “wrestling” match. “Could say it was a dog bite, drowner bite, anything.”

“But I wouldn’t,” Jaskier put in. He had no intention of trying to pass off the bites of his new pack as anything other than the hard-earned trophies they were. Being an alpha with visible claiming bites couldn’t make him much more of a pariah than he already was. “Wouldn’t want to.”

Lambert narrowed his eyes, unconvinced.

“You knew these would be permanent?” Geralt growled.

“Bites scar humans. Jaskier’s human.” Lambert spread his hands. “It’s not master-level alchemy.”

Eskel was still staring, stricken. “It takes so much to scar us. I’d forgotten.” He rubbed the scar on his face, and Jaskier could see him beginning to curl in on himself with that look like a whipped dog. 

“Love.” Jaskier caught Eskel’s hand and pressed it to his mouth. “I wanted this. I want your marks on my body for the rest of my days.” He looked at each of his other witchers in turn. “All of your marks. I want to carry them with me until I die. I knew what I was asking for.”

“We’re supposed to protect you.” Geralt had his jaw clenched, looking at Jaskier as if he were a pile of monster victims Geralt had failed to rescue.

“We’re supposed to protect each other. I distinctly remember that part of the ceremony,” Jaskier said, and dredged up his memory of the line. “‘We promise not to let anyone hurt any of us, or be cruel, or say things that aren’t true, or let each other be sent to bed without dinner.’”

“He’s got a point.” Lambert looked as if he were enjoying this. 

Jaskier might have found it amusing himself, if it weren’t for the miserable looks that Coën, Eskel, and Geralt still wore.

“Would you take them back if you could?” Jaskier met each of their eyes with a defiant stare, chin held high. 

“Not a chance,” Lambert said. 

“Never,” Geralt said, and Coën shook his head. Eskel stared a moment longer, but then shook his head, too. 

“Good.” Jaskier stripped off his doublet and shirt, so all his precious scars would be on full display. “Coën, love,” he said. “Things were moving in quite a promising direction before. Would you mind?” Jaskier slung his legs back over Eskel’s thighs, opening himself up for the taking.

“All right.” Coën placed a hand over the claiming bite on Jaskier’s thigh, and set to work.

By the time the rut faded entirely, Jaskier had settled into a routine, doing chores while his witchers trained, like keeping supply records or scrubbing turnips for supper. The evenings brought a bit more variety, even when their after dinner conversations didn’t devolve directly to sex. Jaskier tried to spread his affections around fairly, but he knew that what his witchers needed changed from day to day. Jaskier himself wasn’t always the right balm for what ailed them, and even if he had been, he couldn’t always be there. Wouldn’t always be there. 

Jaskier kept an ear out to learn who Vesemir had reprimanded on the practice field, looked for who was moving stiffly after hauling bricks in the snow, and took note of who remained quiet during dinner, and made his plans accordingly. Sometimes Jaskier would drag Coën and Eskel into Lambert’s room so the three of them could wear down Lambert’s temper together, or bring Geralt along to ride his cock while Coën fucked him, or simply order Geralt to Eskel’s room for them to sort each other out, and himself crawl into Lambert’s bed demanding to be kept warm. 

He did sometimes miss the nights together in the west hall, when any of the witchers were just a whisper away. Thinking of it now felt like a dream, even more so than memories of rut usually did, with the hazy quality of something like magic. 

But perhaps, Jaskier thought, there was sense in this transition. Soon enough his witchers would be out on the Path again, alone. Going from the comforting cocoon of their shared accommodations in the west hall directly out into the world would have been cruel. 

All the same, Jaskier didn’t spend any nights alone in his room.


	13. Chapter 13

Geralt lay in his bed with Jaskier’s arms wrapped around him, breathing in his strong, clean scent. The smell of alpha had faded significantly since the end of his rut, but even still, Jaskier’s scent calmed Geralt’s mind. Geralt had barely noticed the end of his own heat. Often the conclusion of his heat meant the loss of his excuse to ask for what he wanted. But this winter, the amount of couplings had barely diminished with their return to their own rooms. 

Not that Geralt meant to complain. He turned his head a bit to feel the braids, which Jaskier had given him after their bath this afternoon, rub against the skin at the back of his neck. It was unmarked, perfectly healed, but he could still feel the sensation of teeth. Jaskier’s teeth, and Eskel’s, and Coën’s, and even Lambert’s, claiming him as their own. Eskel and Lambert had bitten him before, but it hadn’t felt like this. For the first time in a long while, he felt as though he might have gotten enough of what he wanted here to last him through the long seasons away from Kaer Morhen.

His arms tightened around Jaskier as he thought of the end of winter, which loomed closer with each passing day. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt whispered.

Jaskier shifted and gave a sleepy, inquisitive hum.

“What are you going to do, in the spring?”

Jaskier raised his head, and blinked slowly at Geralt. His tousled hair stood out in all directions. “Am I not… Coming with you?”

“If you like,” Geralt said evenly. He hadn’t wanted to assume, now that Jaskier had so many other options. “Coën will go north, back to Poviss. Eskel usually hunts along the coast for a few months. And Lambert likes to just wander south and see what he finds.”

“Do you not see them all year?” Jaskier asked. His brows were knit, as if he wasn’t quite seeing where Geralt was going with this.

“Not...” That’s how it had been, or should have been, with so few witchers in the world. But he and Eskel made plans to meet up every few months, and had for years. Lambert, he ran into at least twice a year. And he couldn’t imagine he’d fail to find Coën, if he made the effort. “I’ll see them.”

“Good. I worry about you when we’re apart. If I had to wait all year to make sure they’re alive…” Jaskier tightened his grip on Geralt and shuddered. “Oh no no, no thank you, I would like to not think about any of you dying, thank you very much.”

“I thought maybe you’d want to go off on your own, after this,” Geralt said. Though Geralt had no doubt that Jaskier’s affection was sincere, the reality of spending all winter in Kaer Morhen with a bunch of witchers would be enough to test even the strongest devotion. “We can be… too much.”

Jaskier raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you suggesting that somehow now that I’ve seen you in heat, and been officially admitted to your pack in an extremely serious ritual, that I won’t want to travel with you?”

“You didn’t know I was an omega, before,” Geralt muttered. 

“Again with that.” Jaskier shoved Geralt onto his back and rolled on top of him. “I am a terrible alpha, Geralt. Simply appalling, by normal standards. I don’t know how to fight, I’m not particularly strong or aggressive, I rather like taking cock, I haven’t settled down with a nice steady mate and started raising a gaggle of pups. I fail on almost every measure of what makes a good alpha.”

“Not the ones that count.” Geralt had known almost his whole life that pups and a mate were not in his future, but he’d still been naive enough to dream about what kind of person he would want in his pack. And after having seen Jaskier with his brothers, Geralt knew just how right he’d been to ask Jaskier to come here. The ways in which Jaskier seemed to think he was lacking were nothing to Geralt. “The ones I care about.”

Jaskier sat up, straddling Geralt’s waist, and frowned down at him. “Do you not want me coming with you?”

“That’s not it,” Geralt said quickly.

“Are you thinking I’ll treat you differently now?” Jaskier asked. “Start ordering you around?”

“I’m not concerned about me,” Geralt said, flicking a hand dismissively. As if he wouldn’t already do whatever Jaskier asked of him. “When we’re no longer here, isolated like this...You might feel differently.” 

“Ah,” Jaskier said. “I see.”

Geralt looked away, out into the darkness of the room towards the barely glowing fire. He’d known, when he’d told Jaskier he should wait to make any hasty decisions until after the rut, that Jaskier might come to regret his choice. When one thought about it objectively, there was no reason a handsome, charismatic, successful, alpha bard would want to permanently tie himself to a bunch of witchers who had no social status, none of the nurturing instincts omegas should have, and nothing to offer but a hard life on the road. Jaskier, who was tenacious as well as hopelessly romantic, might do himself a great deal of harm trying to live up to a promise he’d made while under the influence of too many pheromones.

”You don’t have to stay,” Geralt didn’t dare meet Jaskier’s eyes, but he waited, tensed, for the blow to fall. “Once you’re away from all this. You shouldn’t feel trapped with us. With me.”

“I don’t.” Jaskier’s voice had an edge to it, now.

“You don’t right now.”

“I won’t.” Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s hand and placed it on the back of his neck to trace the raised scar of the claiming bite Geralt had put there. The one that would mark him forever. 

Geralt couldn’t help but turn back to look at him.

“I’m your pack, aren’t I?” Jaskier demanded. His eyes were dark, and a little dangerous: the look he got when he was ready to argue a point by any means necessary until Geralt gave in. 

Geralt nodded.

“Then _do not_ try to get rid of me.” Jaskier curled his own hand around the back of Geralt’s neck, where the claiming bites he’d made had healed. “I mean it. Tell me you understand.”

“I understand,” Geralt said faintly. He still couldn’t fathom the _why_ , but he couldn’t deny that Jaskier seemed determined to cling to his choice, to this pack. 

“Thank you.” Jaskier shuffled down to tuck his head against Geralt’s shoulder and wrap his arms around him. He said quietly, “I want to be where you are, as long as you’ll have me.” Jaskier’s breathing evened out into sleep not long after. 

Geralt thought he wouldn’t be able to rest, thinking of all the things that could blight Jaskier’s seemingly unshakable confidence in his choice. But the next time Geralt opened his eyes, morning had come.  
\--

When the snow in the passes began to melt, Coën was the first to leave. 

“I’m used to starting my season near Kaer Seren,” he said at dinner, the night before he was to depart. “There aren’t as many witchers taking contracts that far north now, so I should at least ride through.”

To the others’ surprise, Lambert announced he’d go along as well. “I was going north anyway. Meeting up with someone.”

“Oh ho ho!” Jaskier leaned against Lambert’s shoulder, entirely undeterred by the fierce glare Lambert turned on him. “This mysterious Alpha witcher you know?”

“None of your business,” Lambert grumbled, which just made the others laugh. In retaliation for the laughter, Lambert tried to stab Geralt with a fork. Eskel grabbed his arm to hold him back from starting a brawl, and Vesemir sighed wearily.

While the Wolves were tussling, Coën winked at Jaskier. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye on him, and give you all the gossip.”

After helping with the cleanup from dinner, Jaskier went right to Lambert’s room. Lambert answered the door fully dressed, and snapped, “What? I’ve got packing to do.”

“If you think I’m going to let you leave without getting naked with you one last time, you are sorely mistaken,” Jaskier said cheerfully. He grabbed Lambert’s hand and pulled him into the corridor like a child dragging along a beloved stuffed animal. “Come on, Coën has a bigger bed.”

Jaskier spent quite a long time kissing Lambert while Coën worked him open with the verbena-scented oil that was Lambert’s favorite of the concoctions he’d made. After Lambert had been reduced from cursing to inarticulate noises, Jaskier fucked Lambert’s mouth just the way he liked it while Coën took him from behind. As they gave Lambert every pleasure they knew how to bestow, Coën reached out for Jaskier’s hand. They threaded their fingers together over Lambert’s back, grinning at each other as they finished. 

Afterwards, Lambert grudgingly accepted Coën and Jaskier’s attempts to make him come as many times as he could physically manage. In between bouts, Coën and Lambert turned their attention onto Jaskier, touching him even when he, too, had exhausted his ability to climax. 

Once all three of them were wrung out and spent, Lambert submitted to them snuggling up against him and pressing kisses over every inch of his skin. 

Shortly after breakfast, Jaskier, wrapped in a warm cloak, helped them carry their things down to the stables in the morning. Having been largely responsible for their lack of sleep, Jaskier felt it only courteous to do what he could to ensure a smooth departure. 

Lambert took the saddlebags from Jaskier and flung them over his mare’s back while Jaskier watched. “Geralt says you always spend the summer solstice in Vizima,” Jaskier said. “Will you be there this year?”

Lambert paused with his hand on a strap, not looking at Jaskier. Then he said, “Yeah,” and jolted back into motion.

“Good. See that you are.” Jaskier patted Lambert’s shoulder, then went to stand by Coën. “How long will you be up north?”

“Most of the summer,” Coën said reluctantly. He stopped in the middle of tacking up his horse and turned a hopeful glance on Jaskier. “I usually make it down to Redania by Lammas.” 

“Mm.” Jaskier considered his options. “Drakenborg has a Lammas Festival with a good reputation for music. Meet you there?”

Coën gathered Jaskier into his arms, and said, “Without fail.” 

Jaskier kissed Coën, though not as long as he wanted to, and gave him a gentle shove towards his horse. 

When Jaskier turned away, Lambert was fussing with his mare’s bridle, his shoulders stiff and set. Jaskier smiled fondly and wrapped his arms around Lambert from behind so he could nuzzle at the back of his neck. WIth human senses not enhanced by rut, Jaskier couldn’t detect Lambert’s omega scent at all, but he still smelled tempting and familiar, stained with the evidence of the past night’s festivities. He pressed a gentle kiss to Lambert’s skin, right where his claiming bite had healed. “Be careful, love,” he whispered. 

“Sure.” Lambert, looking a little shell-shocked, mounted his horse, and directed it after Coën’s. 

Jaskier climbed up to the battlement to watch them ride away. He stood there, shivering in the chill early morning air, until the two riders were just specks on the winding path below. That night, the hall felt empty with only four of them at the table. 

Eskel planned his departure for the day after they’d driven the milking goats out to rejoin the rest of the semi-feral mountain herd. Geralt, Eskel, and Jaskier had a hot bath together to wash off the resulting mud, and drank several toasts to Jaskier’s debut effort at goat herding, which even Jaskier himself had to admit had been a dismal failure. 

After supper, Eskel settled Geralt in a chair and bid him stay still while he took Jaskier thoroughly and enthusiastically apart. After Jaskier had regained his senses, Eskel invited him to help shower Geralt with attention until he begged them for release. 

The next morning while Jaskier was still in bed, Eskel kissed him and nuzzled his neck, and did the same to Geralt, then rode out at dawn with plans to meet Jaskier for Beltane and bite marks from both of them healing on his skin. 

Geralt and Jaskier stayed a few more days to help with chores related to closing up the parts of the keep Vesemir didn’t use the rest of the year. But by the end of the week there was nothing more to be done. 

At dawn on a Sunday, they tacked up Roach and Pegasus. The load was light: they left behind the remaining supplies, as they’d be able to acquire more soon enough. 

Vesemir came to the stables to see them off. He gave Geralt a stiff, one-armed hug, and Jaskier turned away to pet Pegasus’ neck and let the two of them pretend they weren’t having emotions. 

When he turned back, Vesemir was regarding him gravely.

“I’m glad you stayed with us this winter,” Vesemir said, and clasped Jaskier’s hand. 

Only by Geralt’s nonplussed look as Vesemir walked away did Jaskier realize that this must have been high praise indeed.

They closed up the stable behind them and put out all the lamps. When Jaskier made it out into the courtyard with Pegasus’ reins in his hands, he looked back up at the forbidding outline of the keep in the early morning light, now so familiar to him. 

“It’s hard to leave,” he said.

“It’s just a place,” Geralt said as he tightened Roach’s girth. “Same as any other.”

Jaskier clicked his tongue. “You’re ridiculous. _It’s just a place_ I’m very fond of. Without it, I’d have missed out on the greatest honor I’ve ever received.”

“The first place prize you’ll win at the Oxenfurt Bardic Competition with all the songs you wrote this winter?” Geralt asked.

“Ridiculous.” Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s arm to turn him around. “No. I’d have missed becoming one of your pack.”

For a moment, Jaskier thought Geralt might have another sarcastic rejoinder ready to go, but instead he curled a hand around the back of Jaskier’s neck and pressed their foreheads together. “You are. Ours.” He huffed out a breath and turned back to Roach. “Let’s go. I want to be past the worst of the dropoffs before nightfall.” 

After they’d mounted up and walked through the gate, Geralt said, “Stay behind me when we get to the narrow part of the trail. If I have to tell the others I lost you within sight of Kaer Morhen, they’ll tear me apart.”

“No they wouldn’t,” Jaskier scoffed. “They’d take care of you.” They _would_ take care of Geralt when Jaskier was gone, he was certain. They’d all take care of each other. Jaskier was counting on it. He hoped that wouldn’t be necessary for many years, but he felt confident none of his witchers would be left alone. He drew himself up in his saddle and urged Pegasus up next to Roach, the better to deliver his coup de grâce to Geralt’s face. “I know because the ritual says so.”

Geralt grunted, not doing a very good job of hiding his smile, and it was suddenly just like any other day on the road. 

Jaskier let Pegasus fall behind again so Geralt wouldn’t fret about the dropoffs. Jaskier turned in his saddle to look back at the keep fading out of sight over a rise in the trail. and felt a swell of warmth as all he’d done there rose up in his memory.

Then he turned back to their journey, already thinking of next winter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! Thank you for making it all this way. I have been working on this puppy for many, many months now, and I'm so happy for it to be out in the world. I'd love to hear what you think of it. Also feel free to come squee with me on [tumblr.](https://brighteyedjill.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Thanks go once more to my amazing artist [jerry-of-rivia](https://jerry-of-rivia.tumblr.com/), and the cheerleading and beta help from hobbitdragon and crateofkate. Go team!


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